It's Complicated
by DaisyDay
Summary: In the dead of the night, a driver hits an anonymous man. The evidence is clear: a party-going drunk driver, the victim's blood on the headlight of his car, and even an eyewitness to the tragedy. The most basic of cases for Mike Cutter, easily a conviction for vehicular manslaughter. Or is it?
1. Chapter 1

(Most characters are of the Law and Order universe.)

My take on season 21!

IT'S COMPLICATED

Chapter 1

It was a hit and run accident with a fatality.

The case seemed open and shut. A witness had written down the license plate number of the damaged vehicle. The driver was drunk. Meanwhile the victim's blood was splattered on the broken headlight from that night.

Plain and simple; score one for the prosecution.

That was what DA Jack McCoy originally thought when he had assigned this particular case to one of his newer attorneys in the DA's office. Unfortunately, within that same week, the young prosecutor responsible for the case had slipped and fallen down some stairs and was now laid up with a broken leg in a hospital bed on the final day of the trial.

A headache for Jack.

Jack rushed through the assigned case log of his prosecutors, noting that only EADA Mike Cutter was currently not working on a case. Jack hated to put one of his more valuable prosecutors on such an easy win case, but no one else was readily available, and the wrap up of the trial would take place tomorrow.

With file in hand, Jack walked down the hall way towards Mike's office, passing several offices, the majority of them empty. The entire floor of the office was near silent, for it was still in the early hours of the morning. But Jack had no doubt that Mike would be in his office. Like himself, Mike lived for the job.

Sure enough, Mike was standing near his office cabinet quietly catching up with some filing. This was a time Mike enjoyed, being alone in solitude with his thoughts, before all the craziness of the day began.

With that small chore completed, he sat down and took a sip of his coffee, feeling totally at peace with the world. As he gazed up and beyond his office window, he could see clear across the way to Connie's darkened office. She had not arrived as of yet.

His heart always seemed to quicken at his first sight of her in the mornings. He always looked forward to her cheery greetings.

Lately however, it seemed to Mike that he and Connie had been growing distant, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He had felt that way ever since Lieutenant Van Buren's retirement party.

Connie seemed more preoccupied than usual with other matters and rarely would stay late at the office. He missed those times where they would spend late night dinners together, although all they ever talked about was whatever case they were working on.

Mike's office door was already opened, but Jack knocked on the doorway anyway, which meant he was here in a business capacity.

"Jack, you're certainly here early," Mike greeted him, "What's up?"

Jack strode in, "This is what's up," he curtly remarked as he tossed a thin file on Mike's desk, "Bill Anderson injured himself and is unfortunately unavailable to proceed with the Brantley case. We need someone to substitute for him in court, later this afternoon."

Mike stared at the file.

"Are you handing this case to me?" he asked, "Do you actually expect me to become familiar with a case in one day?"

"You're an EADA, " Jack stated, half-jesting, "You're paid to handle the emergencies. That's why you get the big bucks."

Mike guffawed.

"You are aware, Jack," suggested Mike, "that in circumstances like these, we could ask for a continuance regarding this case…"

Jack, of course, knew that, but the office was already backlogged with too many cases, so he was trying hard to whittle the number of open-ended cases to a minimum, if possible.

"We could, but is it necessary for this one?" Jack asked, "Anderson had informed me that he was finishing up with the last witness and then the summations would begin. So far, the case has gone smoothly. No problems."

Mike opened up the file and skimmed through it, "A hit and run casualty?"

Jack nodded, "The driver is obviously guilty. He was driving drunk, there was the victim's blood on the driver's damaged vehicle, and we have a corroborating witness. We have all the proof we need to convict."

"All wrapped up in a pretty bow, eh?" Mike asked, liking the odds, "But Jack, it's not like you to give me an easy win case."

"Consider it you owing me a favor," Jack answered in his usual gruff voice. He then turned to leave.

It took Mike a split second for Jack's words to sink in.

"Wait! Jack!" Mike beckoned Jack back, with a question, "how did _you_ giving _me_ a case at the last minute turned into a favor that I will owe _you_?"

Jack paused at the doorway, "It's called being a DA, Mike. I can make anything I say sound advantageous for me. That's why I get paid the REALLY big bucks, " he grinned as he left, leaving Mike looking flabbergasted, with the file on his desk.

.

.

Later that morning, the DA's office was bustling with people and noise. Workers were rushing back and forth as phones could be heard ringing and fax machines whirring in the background.

Amidst the chaotic, noisy office cubicles sat Connie Rubirosa. She let out a sigh as she looked at the huge stack of files she still had to go through. It was well after lunch, yet she could already do with another break.

She stared at Mike's empty office. He had told her how Jack had 'volunteered' him for the hit-and-run case that had previously belonged to Bill. Mike had gone to prep the witness and then headed straight to court.

Having him gone just made the place seem more…gloomy. The mumbling of several voices could be heard in the hallway, but Connie was only aware of being alone.

She liked her working partnership with Mike. From the start, it had felt so natural, so comfortable. Of course, there were times when being with him was rather unsettling, especially when his searing blue eyes looked deeply into hers. It was as if he knew a part of her that even she didn't know. And she had to admit that thought was disconcerting yet at the same time oddly pleasant.

Connie forced herself to concentrate on her work. She was doing some research as a favor for another prosecutor's case, when the phone rang. She was still reading off her computer screen when she absent-mindedly picked up the phone.

"Connie Rubirosa."

The well-modulated youthful voice of a woman responded, "May I speak with Mike Cutter of the DA's office?"

Mike had obviously forwarded his calls to her phone.

"I'm sorry," Connie apologized, as she continued reading a case citation on the screen and was jotting the information down on a legal pad, "Mr. Cutter is unavailable at this moment, but I work closely with him. I'm ADA Connie Rubirosa. Could I be of assistance to you?"

"How much do you charge for a day in court?" the other voice asked.

The woman's strange question made Connie stop writing in mid-word. Obviously this person on the phone did not understand how court proceedings worked.

"Prosecutors do not get paid by the day, Miss," Connie explained patiently, "And we do not accept money from the public. However, if you like, you could make an appointment with our front desk, and one of our assistants would be more than happy to explain to you how the DA's office works."

"No, I need to speak to Mr. Cutter, " the young woman, insisted, "but if you work closely with Mr. Cutter, you must be good, too. I need your help and you must hurry, for time is running out!"

"Oh?" Connie asked attentively, as she put down her pen to listen, "and what exactly do you need?"

"What I need," began the other woman, "is for you to sit in on a case."

"You mean, you want me to prosecute a case?" Connie asked, thinking the woman, in addition to not knowing how court works, did not know correct legal terminology,

"No," the young woman stated, "I need you to sit and _listen_ to a trial that is already on-going."

Connie scowled, but she was intrigued, "You want me to just _listen_ to a trial?"

"That's right," the other person stated, "just listen and maybe draw your conclusions at the end."

Connie wasn't sure if this was a joke, "Who is this?"

"Let's just say my name is… 'Help'" she had said, "because that's what I need."

"I'm sorry, Miss…Help," Connie did not know how to proceed, "but this is really such an unusual request…"

"Please, I am not a crank call…I really need your help!" she sounded desperate now, "A person's life depends on this! There is a case in Department 24 of the Superior Court entitled _People vs. Brantley_. It's actually in session right now, even as we speak. The prosecutor on that case, I believe, is Bill Anderson."

_Mike's case_, Connie thought, her interest peaking.

"Coincidences being what they are," Connie explained, "Mr. Cutter has already been assigned that case."

"Oh _really_?" the woman sounded pleased. There was a pause, as if she was considering her options, "…and what was your name, again, please?"

"Rubirosa. Connie Rubirosa."

"Well, Ms. Rubirosa," the young woman proposed, "perhaps you would be willing to listen in on the case, too? A second opinion would always be welcomed. I can even pay you for your efforts, although I don't have much. But that is how important this case is to me."

This conversation was getting stranger by the minute, but Connie was intrigued.

"This office does not accept payments from the public," Connie explained, "but I am curious… how does this case concern you?"

"It doesn't…not directly, that is," the young woman responded mysteriously, "I just need your expertise opinion."

"Suppose I decide to sit in on the trial," Connie started hesitantly, "then what?"

"I will contact you tomorrow to ask you what your conclusions are." the young woman said. She then specifically told Connie to sit in the gallery.

"Suppose I can't find a seat among the spectators?" Connie asked, knowing that happened often.

"I've worked it out already," she explained, "When you enter the courtroom, I'll be seated in the right-hand aisle seat, third row back. I'll have dark chestnut hair and glasses. Next to me will be a seat with a coat. I will pick up the coat and then you can sit down."

Before Connie could respond, there was a decisive click at the other end of the line. Hmmm..a real mystery, Connie thought, as she continued to stare at the now silent phone.

And if there's anything Connie loved, it was a good mystery.

.

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_A/N: So excited to be writing another L and O story. My attempt at another crime/mystery story. Although there is no real romance in this story, I hope I captured the natural chemistry that Mike and Connie seemed to have on the series._

_Please review_


	2. Chapter 2

Final testimony

Chapter 2

Court was in session.

Connie reached the courtroom of Department 24 of the Superior Court and Mike was already in the middle of his questioning with the last witness. The trial was winding down. Once the defense completes the cross of the same witness, both sides would then begin closing arguments.

Upon Connie's appearance, the seated young woman had deftly picked up her coat which had been laid out on the adjourning seat. Connie inconspicuously sat in the newly opened space in the third row of the gallery. The woman didn't acknowledge Connie's presence, but merely stared straight ahead, closely watching the trial.

With his back to her, Mike was unaware that Connie had slipped in as he was concentrated on the witness's testimony.

An average-looking middle aged woman, witness Mary Harrison had been the driver behind defendant Tim Brantley's vehicle when he had allegedly plowed into the victim before speeding quickly away. Through testimony Mike had her pinpoint the time and place this incident had occurred.

"...and as you continued driving west on Hylan Boulevard approaching Greenridge Avenue from the east," Mike questioned, "did you see anything unusual?"

Mary nodded, "Yes, the car ahead of me was driving in a very erratic manner."

"Objection!" James Granick, defense attorney stood.

Connie glanced over at the defense table and remembered Granick from the Marty Winston case, the one where Winston almost shot Mike.

The top of Granick's bald head gleamed from the lights above, "the witness is not an expert on people's behavior with their vehicles."

"Overruled," said the Judge.

Mike acknowledged the judge's ruling, knowing he had to get the witness to be more specific, "Ms. Harrison, could you please explain for the court what you mean by erratic behavior?"

"Certainly," Mary was looking more relaxed, "The car was weaving all over the road, crossing the center line and going clear over to the left. Then it would go back to the right and one time it ran clear off the highway on the right side."

"So what did you do then?" Mike inquired, looking very interested.

"When there was a wide place in the road about halfway down the State highway, I passed right by him," Mary responded.

"You passed right by him?" Mike asked, urging her to elaborate.

"I sure did," she held her head high, "and I remembered being very nervous; I didn't want the driver to swerve into me."

"Objection!" Granick stated, "Move to strike everything regarding as to why she passed the car."

"Sustained."

Mike didn't seemed bothered, "Alright, Ms. Harrison, after you passed the car, what did you do then?"

"I went home and went to bed."

An awkward pause.

"What I meant by that question," Mike patiently tried again, "is what did you do immediately afterwards, regarding the vehicle that you passed, if anything?"

"Oh!" Mary was embarrassed, "Sorry…I looked in my rear view mirror and I saw the car continue swerving, left and then right. All of a sudden I saw something really dark...it was like...like a _shadow,_ cross in front of that car's headlights and then the right headlight of the car seemed to go out."

There were murmurings in the gallery,

Slam dunk, thought Mike, although he knew there was no such thing. But this could be the first.

"You witnessed the impact from the rearview mirror?" Mike asked.

"Yes."

"Did you know what caused the headlight to go out?"

"Not then," Mary claimed, "but after thinking a bit, I had an inkling of what the dark shadow could have been."

"And what was that?" Mike asked.

"Objection!" Granick stood, "Question is argumentative. Calls for a conclusion from the witness."

"Sustained," the Judge said, "Witness can testify only to what she _saw_."

"Your Honor," argued Mike, "the witness certainly has the right to interpret what had occurred, after all, she was there!"

The Judge considered the matter.

"She can testify only to what she _saw_, and we will let the jury do the _interpretation,_" determined the Judge.

Granick gave Mike a smug look, as Mike turned back to his witness. Connie knew Mike's strategy would be to leave the jurors the impression that a figure _of a person_ had darted in front of Brantley's car.

"So you _saw _a black shadow of something appear suddenly on the street?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And regarding this dark figure who darted out…"

"Your Honor!" Granick immediately stood, obviously frustrated with Mike's mention of _dark figure._

"_Mr. Cutter_!" the Judge reprimanded.

"I apologize, Your Honor," Mike paused and then inspiration hit him, "Ms. Harrison, what was the approximate _height_ of this dark, unknown _thing_ that you saw come out of nowhere?"

"The height?" Mary repeated, as she thought it over, "um…I would say...roughly six feet tall," she testified.

Mike looked pleased.

Clever, Connie thought, Mike got away with it after all. He knew the mention of 'six feet' would give the impression that the dark unknown figure was a person.

"I see," Mike nodded and then looked directly at her, "And then what happened? Did _it_, this dark blob, make it across the street?"

"Objection," Granick stood, "_Making it across the street_ implies it was something alive that could move on its own accord, and not merely an obstruction in the road."

"But Ms. Harrison is testifying to what she _saw, _and what she_ saw _was something that went across the street_...she saw that, _which is what defense counsel insisted she testify to_... _did I understand that correctly?" Mike cleverly pointed out.

Granick threw his hands up in frustration.

"Overruled," the Judge said.

"Again, Ms. Harrison, " Mike inquired, "Did it, this dark unknown thing make it across the street?"

"No... once it got hit, it had stopped moving_,_" Mary looked certain.

Mike paused to allow that point to absorb in the minds of the jurors.

"And that's when you wrote down the license plate; is that correct?"

Mary was smiling, "Yes, I figured the police might want the information."

Mike produced people's evidence four; Mary's notebook with the license plate number written on the paper. She identified the letters and numbers as her writing while Mike identified through DMV records that a red Mustang was registered to the uncle of the defendant.

"Thank you, Ms. Harrison, no further questions." Mike confidently stated as he turned and started to walk to his table. Now facing the gallery, there was a satisfied expression on Mike's face; the witness had held up well. One more day, two at the most, and this trial would be over.

Connie's heart suddenly began to beat faster as he subconsciously scanned the rows of people in the courtroom. As was his habit, he always liked to gauge reactions from the people observing. At last his eyes stopped on the section she was seated.

And she knew exactly when he had spotted her.

Her clear gaze seemed to pin him to his spot. Mike no longer aware of the spectators; they seemed to have dissipated in his mind as his eyes were only on Connie.

"Mr. Cutter?" the Judge broke into Mike's thoughts, "unless you've just spotted a hippopotamus charging through the courtroom, is there a reason you are standing there?"

Some people from the gallery grinned at the Judge's choice of words.

Mike's expression showed he recovered, as his face was once more placid, "My apologies, Your Honor," he said, as he made his way back to his chair. He turned once to look quickly at where he last saw Connie, his piercing blue eyes drinking in the sight of her amidst the gallery. Then silently he turned back and took his seat.

Connie took a secret delight to know she affected him that way.

It wasn't too long after that when the Judge banged on his gavel, signaling the end of today's session. Mike stood and gathered up his papers. When he turned around again, he was disappointed to note that Connie had already left.

The only comfort that Mike took was that the case was going exactly his way.

.

.

The unpredictability of the New York City winds swirled about as Mike arrived at his apartment complex. This time, however, the opposing gusts did not bother him, for he seemed more aware of the rustling green leaves of trees and puffy clouds up above.

Mike was feeling optimistic. It had been a great day in court.

He was actually whistling as he entered his sparsely furnished apartment. His apartment mainly consisted of a pair of barstools, a simple love sofa and a sturdy coffee table. The only notable piece of furniture was a quaint oak writing desk with hutch, set aside in one corner of his apartment in front of the window. It had been passed on to him by his mom.

Placing his briefcase next to the kitchen counter, Mike wandered over to the mini bar and poured a glass of wine for himself. He had stopped whistling, and was instead, reliving the moment when he saw Connie in the gallery earlier this afternoon. It had caught him by surprise. His misgivings about the two of them growing apart had been swept away, for her appearance in court showed him that she was supporting him, right?

He turned on the television as he sat on the couch. Somehow he couldn't absorb the words coming from the newscaster. Then the program went to a commercial. It was an advertisement for some type of law office firm specializing in personal injury. Humph! The two lawyers in that commercial looked more like a couple of ambulance chasers, Mike thought, with a twinge of a smile.

But the legal reminder made Mike yearn to talk to Connie, especially since he hadn't spoken to her all day. Though this was an easy case, he still wanted to discuss with her his courtroom strategies and perhaps get a different perspective of what he should look out for when the defense cross examines his witness tomorrow.

So after considering all this, he pondered whether it would be so strange if he called her at her apartment now. Mike looked at his watch- it wasn't even that late. In fact, he thought wistfully, it was still early enough that maybe they could discuss it over coffee at their favorite coffeeshop.

His eyes darted over to his Blackberry on the coffee table. How would she react to him calling her this late from his apartment? he speculated, and then more hesitancy entered his mind...what if she rejected the invitation for coffee?

But as he continued staring at his phone, he wondered what was wrong with him, why the hesitancy. He was always the type to take chances, even when the odds were against him. Or especially when they were.

Besides he talked to her everyday, so how was this any different?

Mike reached over and grabbed his BlackBerry and found her number on his phone list. He pushed the button quickly before he changed his mind. He heard her number dialing.

_Pick up, Connie, pick up_, he thought as he held his breath.

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_Please review_


	3. Chapter 3

After the courtroom testimony

Chapter 3

It had been a long workday for Connie. She had gone straight from the courthouse to the NY Public Library to do some research on two different cases, so she had not gone back to the office. She had worked the entire rest of the afternoon so that her desk could be clear. And now it was well past six in the evening.

She would just go home, eat a quick dinner, shower and relax with a book. She actually looked forward to spending a quiet night on her own.

The doorman stepped out of the secured apartment building to greet her as she approached with one arm laden with a stuffed bag of groceries.

"Good evening, Miss Rubirosa," he politely tipped his hat, "Need a hand?"

"No, I'm fine," Connie gave him an assured smile, as he held the door open for her.

"You certainly seem to be in a chipper mood!" the doorman remarked as she walked past him.

Connie entered the building and now turned back, still smiling, "I'm just happy to be home!"

When the elevator arrived, Connie stepped in and pressed the 18th button as the doors shut and she felt an upward lift of the elevator. Holding steady the grocery bag with one hand, she used the other to awkwardly rummage through her purse for her key, just as the elevator doors opened to her floor.

Now at her apartment door, she inserted the key into the lock, turned it until it clicked, and went inside. She immediately flipped on the foyer light. Kicking off her shoes, she placed the bag in the kitchen and headed down the hallway

The first thing she noted as she walked down the darkened corridor was that her bedroom door ahead was closed. Connie scowled, for she knew every morning before she left for work, the door had always been left opened. After all, what would be the purpose of keeping it shut?

Something didn't feel right and alarms went off in her head.

She slowed down her pace, making certain not to make any loud noises as she almost tip-toed her way to the door of her bedroom. Then Connie positioned her ear to the door. She heard noise from within—it sounded as if someone was sliding open her closet door. How had someone gotten past the security of her complex? Connie wondered to herself.

_There was definitely someone in her apartment._

For some reason she flashed back to that time when the Vella Cartel threatened hers and Mike's life. Connie started to back away. She then turned around and made a silent dash to the front door.

From behind her, she could hear the bedroom door opening. _Oh God!_

It was only mere seconds but it seemed like it took forever for her to reach the front door. She tried to unlock the deadbolt. Unfortunately she hadn't realized until it was too late that she had not bolted it when she came in; her jiggling with it now only put it back in the locked position. She nervously fiddled with it as the sound of footsteps became louder. Connie broke out in a sweat as she nervously gave the bolt a hard push to the right.

At last she got the bolt unlatched and as she put her hand on the doorknob, a familiar male voice called out to her.

"Where you going, Connie? It's me!"

She turned around and was looking directly into the familiar face of Johnny Vasquez, her high school ex-boyfriend. He stood with a big grin on his face.

"Oh!... Johnny! It's you!" Connie exclaimed, recognition at last seeping in.

"Hey, I just thought I'd surprise you." His confident expression darkened when he noticed Connie's look of stunned fear, "What's the matter, baby?"

Connie heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Johnny. A month ago they had bumped into one another at a grocery store and had struck up a conversation. Since then, they have been casually seeing one another whenever he was in town. Although he didn't have a key to her place, she figured the landlord had let him in.

"Nothing, Johnny… she even managed a wry smile, "it's...just been a long day…"

He acknowledged, "Yeah, I noticed it took you forever to get home."

It was times like these that Connie could see Johnny was someone who was void of emotional concern. Already he was minimalizing her reaction to being frightened and was discounting whether or not she felt tired. It was as if he lacked compassion for her feelings at times.

"Johnny, I'd wished next time you would give me a heads up if you're coming."

He shrugged, "Yeah, sure, I'll do that...but for now...come here, I've missed you..."

He held out his arms and she found herself walking into them. His words did seem to calm her somewhat and she stopped shaking. The heat from his body felt warm and closing her eyes, she tried to soothe her mind.

It was nice to have someone in my life, she thought to herself, someone who'd listened, someone to hold her.

Someone not complicated.

But although her mind was eased and her body peaceful, her heart did not feel content.

,

,

Johnny Vasquez and Connie had just finished an intimate dinner at her apartment.

"I'm so glad you've made it into town, " Connie was saying to him as she took a bite of her cheesecake, "although I was really caught by surprise when you unexpectedly came out from my bedroom."

"Ahh, chica," he responded, as he playfully touched the end of her nose, "If being alone in New York City is truly a concern of yours, I could be here more often if you want, just let me move in here with you."

He instantly read reluctance on Connie's face. Again.

"Johnny, we've talked about this already," her voice sounded unusually flat.

Johnny continued watching her, "You mean, _you've_ talked about it and made the decision for the _two _of us."

Connie let out a frustrated sigh. She was satisfied with the way things were, with no emotional complications. Why wasn't this arrangement enough for him?

"Please let's not ruin this dinner, Johnny."

Johnny looked down at his meal. He decided he better back off, but not before he looked back up and added, "I just don't understand why I can't even leave something as insignificant like a toothbrush here."

"Because that small gesture represents a change in our relationship, it's like a proof in permanency," said Connie, as she pushed her chair away from the table, got up, and blew out the candles. She had not meant to sound so harsh, so final. But Connie knew she was not ready for Johnny to move in with her. She needed time, she needed space, she needed-

"And is that so bad?" he interrupted her thoughts, as he started to get up too.

"I told you," Connie tried not to sound impatient, "I am not ready for the next step."

"You cannot expect for me to wait forever," Johnny's response almost sounded like a warning.

"Don't worry, I won't," Connie stated, starting to feel stressed again. She felt her body tightening and wished to change the subject, "Anyway...you can just leave the dishes there. I'll deal with them later. Right now, all I want to to is take a nice warm shower."

His eyes lit up, "Perhaps you'd like some company?"

Connie stared evenly at him. All she wanted to do was to be alone with her thoughts so that she could think about the day's happenings. She hadn't meant to be so cranky, but he was the one who interrupted her private night.

"Really, Johnny, I just want to be alone for awhile" she responded tiredly, "We'll talk when I get out, alright?"

Johnny tried not to show his frustration.

"Fine, but I'm staying the night!" he announced to her departing backside as she gave a back wave of acknowledgement.

After she left, he started gathering the dishes to put in the sink, something he rarely did, but he needed to do something.

Women! he thought. Or more accurately, maybe just Connie. Johnny really didn't understand her. Any other woman would be lucky to have someone like him. But she didn't get it. Even when they were intimate, it always seemed as if she didn't completely let go, it was like she was holding back somehow, but he didn't know why.

He could hear Connie running the water just as her phone rang. Johnny was about to yell out to Connie, but he knew she wouldn't want to come to the phone now. Ambling over to the phone, he casually picked it up.

"Hello?" he spoke into her phone.

Mike, who was at the other end, removed his Blackberry from his ear and looked at it for a second. Perhaps he had dialed the wrong number. But then, again, he had her on speed dial. He placed the Blackberry up to his ear again.

"Is this the number of Connie Rubirosa?" Mike asked, sounding unsure.

"It is," replied Johnny, "Who is this?"

To Mike, the male voice at the other end did not sound friendly.

"Tell her it's Mike," he determinedly said.

"She's in the shower now," Johnny sounded impatient "You want to leave a message?"

The _shower._

"No, no, that's fine. Thanks," Mike quickly hung up.

The silence in the room was deafening as he stared off into space. So that explains why Connie had been acting distant with him the last month or so.

Now Mike knew for certain.

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_Next chapter, it goes back to courtroom testimony!_

___Please review_


	4. Chapter 4

Closing statements

Chapter 4

The next morning had started out so strangely for Connie.

From her desk in her office, she could see Mike across the hallway in his office. He seemed to be concentrating on the folder in front of him, probably getting ready for another day of court. Connie knew it was absurd, but she actually missed conversing with him yesterday. It had only been one missed day, but still...

Unexpectedly, from where he sat, Mike suddenly glanced up from his reading material and their eyes locked.

Heat flamed Connie's cheeks, but just as quickly he broke the gaze and went back to reading the folder. The quickness of the glance made Connie think that maybe she had misinterpret the gesture, that he had been looking up in deep thought or that maybe he had been staring at something beyond her. Clearing her throat, she looked around her desk for something to do. That was the disadvantage with being efficient; sometimes she got her work done too fast.

From Mike's office, she heard the lights being turned off and footsteps headed her way. It stopped at the doorway to her office.

"Connie?"

At the sound of his voice, Connie tried to steady her nerves. When she looked up, he had not entered her office but instead chose to remain at the entrance, briefcase in hand.

"Yes?" she inquired, while holding her breath at the same time.

"FYI, I'm headed for court now," he stated the obvious, "so I've forwarded all my calls to you."

Connie turned back to face forward, opened a random folder, and pretended to be immersed in reading its contents.

"Oh...that's fine, Mike."

She did not see it, but he had reached out and touched her doorway, as if he were delaying his departure.

"Alright, then..." he spoke out, "see you later."

And he was gone.

.

(An hour later)

Inside the courtroom, Defense attorney James Granick stood up to cross examine Mary Harrison.

Just like the day before, Connie was once more seated next to the mysterious young lady. And again, they did not acknowledge one another, did not speak.

As Connie watched the courtroom proceedings, she was slightly disappointed that he had not turned around once to see if she were in the gallery. Still she kept her eyes on him, although it was his backside. As always, he looked attorney sharp in his expensively cut suit with silk tie. Although he dressed as professionally as always, something seemed off about him.

Was it his posture? It seemed so...stiff.

Enough musings, Connie realized that she was missing the testimony.

Mary Harrison was explaining to the defense lawyer how, after she had passed the car, she had grabbed a notebook from her purse and jotted down the license plate number with a pencil.

"And this is the notebook you wrote the numbers down on?" the defense lawyer asked as he held the notebook in the plastic bag, the one shown yesterday as evidence.

"Yes, that's the one," said Mary.

"And could you read off the license plate number you had written down on your pad?" Granick asked, handing her the evidence bag.

Mary peered at the plastic bag to read the numbers she had previously written," FDS 664." She handed the evidence bag back to Granick.

"Isn't it a fact," Granick said, ""that on that particular night, you had looked at the license number of that Mustang, then stopped your car and wrote the number down?"

"No," Mary testified, "Like I said before…I took out my notebook while I was driving and wrote down that number."

"Really?" asked Granick with much interest, "So you wrote with one hand and drove with the other?"

"Yes," agreed Mary, "I kept my left hand on the wheel as I wrote the numbers with my right hand."

"Did you write the number in the dark?"

"No, of course not. I switched on the dome light so I could see what I was writing."

"And after you wrote down the number," Granick commented, "You drove on home?"

"Yes."

"Did you call the police?"

"Yes, I've already stated that," Mary said.

"_When_ had you called them?" Granick asked.

"Uh, later."

"After you read in the newspaper about the accident?" Granick asked.

"Yes."

"You didn't call the police before that? Immediately after you got home?"

Mike stood, "Objection…Asked and answered."

"Sustained." The Judge said.

"If it was so important for you to write the number down," Granick was pacing to make a point, "Why didn't you call the police immediately… unless, of course, you didn't think it was an accident…"

"Objection." Mike stood, "counsel is testifying."

"Sustained."

"O_kay_…" Granick was thinking, "So, Miss Harrison, you had taken this number down so you could call the police in the event of an accident?"

Mary shifted in her seat, "I took the number down because I thought it was my duty in case the police needed it."

But you did nothing with the information once you jotted it down," pointed out Granick and then quickly added, "Seems your actions contradict your words and therefore your reasons contradict your actions—no further questions!"

Granick had stated everything in a rush before Mike could get in an objection. Connie knew Granick had scored points with the witness' reliability regarding not contacting the police immediately. Mike needed to do some damage control. And fast.

Mike stood up, "Redirect, Your Honor."

"Proceed, Mr. Cutter," the Judge said.

"Miss Harrison, I'm certain you do not go around writing down the license plate of every car you pass," Mike remained at the prosecutor's table, 'So what was the _real_ reason why you had written down the numbers and letters on that particular license plate?"

This time Mary's eyes glittered with triumph, "Because I knew that the person who was driving that Mustang was too drunk to have any business being behind the wheel of a car."

Mike nodded confidently at her, "Thank you, Ms. Harrison."

That was easy enough, Connie thought, at least Mike made the witness come off as sincere and wanting to do a good deed. Mary stepped down from the witness stand. When she passed Mike, he gave a winning nod to her.

Mike then respectively looked at the judge, "The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

He sat down. Outwardly Mike showed confidence, but inwardly, his thoughts were all in turmoil.

Mary Harrison was a strong witness, he thought, but somehow...her testimony didn't sit right. The little hairs on the back of his neck would often stand up when something did not make sense to him., and right now they were tree-trunk straight. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his sixth sense was sending off strong signals.

Meanwhile the case was coming to a close. When the Judge asked if the Defense wanted to call anyone to the stand, Granick declined. Obviously Granick did not want Mike to question his client, the defendant Tim Brantley, on the stand.

"Mr. Granick, are you ready with your closing arguments?" the Judge inquired.

Granick stood.

"I certainly am, Your Honor!" he stated with ease.

Defense lawyer Granick stood and walked over to the jurors. He began with a polite greeting, but his summation suddenly took a sharp turn as he attacked the validity of the prosecution's main witness's testimony.

"...The prosecution seemed to have presented one superfluous witness after another, but it's their star witness who was the most unreliable. Ms. Harrison's questionable testimony stated that she saw my client's car hit the victim. Rubbish I say!"

Granick looked each juror in the eyes.

"The prosecution certainly isn't giving you any credit for your reasoning skills _at all._ Let's break down her testimony. According to Ms. Harrison, she stated that in the dead of the night, she actually had time, once she passed the vehicle, to turn on the cab light of her vehicle, grab a notebook, rustle up a pen, and write down the license plate number, all in the space of perhaps seconds! _Seconds_!" Granick looked so sure of himself, "Now, if all the planets were aligned and she _was_ able to pull that off, my hat's off to her, but in my opinion, she is the only person in the world who can drive and write _without looking at the road."_

From his table, Mike sat expressionless, knowing it was best not to react.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Granick's tone was solemn, "it took me longer to explain all that than it supposedly took for this _witness t_o do everything she _claimed_ to have done that night."

The jury was held spellbound as they watched him walk away to stand behind his client. Granick then placed his hands on the shoulders of his client

"Simply put, " Granick concluded,"the prosecution have not proven their case and my client is _innocent._ Don't let the prosecution get away with relying on the testimony of one weak witness. You must return the only verdict possible, the only verdict that will enable you to feel that you have conscientiously discharged your sworn duty as an objective juror—a verdict of NOT GUILTY for my client, Tim Brantley!"

Granick then quietly took his seat.

Connie hoped the jurors were not buying into Granick's closing arguments. Instead of convincing the jury of his client's innocence, Granick had proceeded to attack the witness. Typical play to make when one did not have a strong defense. Nevertheless, Granick had a satisfied look on his face as he leaned in to say something to his client.

The Judge turned to Mike, "Mr. Cutter? Are you ready with your summation?"

Connie felt Mike's closing statements should have the jury voting _guilty_ in an hour.

Everyone looked eagerly towards Mike. The prosecution had a very strong case, and Mike knew it.

The key was not to overplay it. Presenting a powerhouse of a closing argument with fire and brimstone would only alienate the jurors. The best way would be to calmly and professionally present all the facts in a sensible, organized manner. If he did it right, he could convict Tim Brantley of vehicular homicide. He had the entire speech all lined up in his head. His closing summation would be the deciding factor in clinching a guilty verdict.

He slowly stood up and straightened his jacket. Connie leaned in, completely attuned to what Mike would say.

"Your Honor," Mike declared, _"_The prosecution..._ would like to seek a continuance_."

He said the ending part quickly and the last thing Connie heard was the sound of the entire courtroom gasping, her own being the loudest.

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	5. Chapter 5

The Mystery Intensifies

Chapter 5

As expected, Jack did not take Mike's decision well regarding the Brantley case.

_"A __**continuance **__you say!" _Jack's voice boomed from across his desk as he eyed Mike with incredulity. Mike chose to ignore Jack's indignation.

"Heard and granted by the judge," replied Mike, holding his head up high.

A gruff sound could be heard coming from Jack.

"So our slam dunk case suddenly missed the basket!" Jack peered accusingly, "Mike, how did you ever let this happen?"

Mike was not one to cower, but then again, he did not look forward to dealing with Jack when he was on one of his rampages. Of all the people in the world, Jack was the one person Mike did not want to disappoint, yet, it seemed to be that he always did.

"There's more to this case than meets the eye, Jack" Mike argued, "I think the original investigation was not complete. This time around I'm bringing in Lupo and Bernard on the case."

Jack's expression was not a happy one. Reopening an investigation meant more manpower and more expenses, something the DA's office could ill-afford to do.

"What evidence do you have for a continuance?" Jack asked.

Mike was afraid Jack would ask that. If only Mike had been able to talk with Connie about the case earlier, he might have been better able to give a better reason before he faced his mentor.

"It's just...I have a hunch, Jack."

Predictably, Jack's eyebrows shot up, "Are you telling me, Mike" he worked to control his voice, "...that all the extra time, money and effort you will now need to put into this case is based solely...on a _hunch?_"

"It won't be the first time," Mike responded, to which Jack most certainly agreed. Mike's method as a prosecutor was built on play-it-by-ear conjectures, which usually drove Jack crazy. But...it's worked well before in the past, perhaps this would be one of those times, too.

_It better be._

Jack's lips thinned in disapproval.

"I just hope you know what you're doing, Mike," Jack warned his protégé cautiously, "we need this wrapped up _yesterday!_"

Mike nodded as if he had been given approval, although he hadn't, "I'll do my best."

..

It was still early evening when Mike returned to his own office. Sitting behind his desk, he was busy reviewing the Brantley case, trying to decide which avenues he needed to explore. What started as a simple hit and run case did not seem that way at all. He scowled as he read the police notes that was attached to the file, trying to locate any red flags.

So concentrated was he on what he was reading, he didn't hear Connie until she called out to him the second time.

"Mike?" she tried again. He looked up to see her standing across his desk, waiting hesitantly.

As he met her gaze, his heart gave a funny thump. Then he recalled he had no right to feel that way with her. She was with someone else, after all. He sat up straighter, getting into supervisor mode.

"Have a seat, Connie" he stated evenly.

Although she didn't exactly expect balloons and confetti to fall from the ceiling, Connie wondered about the strange behavior from him. Perhaps it was due to the stress of the case, she thought as she sat across from him.

At least she hoped it was that, "You're not too busy, are you?"

"Of course not…," Mike looked up and put on a smile that did not reach his eyes, "did you need to talk to me about something?"

He was talking to her as if she were a first year law clerk with a question about a case finding.

"I'm sure you saw me in court when you were prosecuting the Brantley case," Connie eyed him, trying to gauge his reaction. She would have thought he would have been pleased to see her in the gallery. It did seem that way - for the first day, at least.

She watched him run his hand through his hair, which he often did when he was feeling nervous or uncomfortable.

Mike was trying so hard to be nonchalant with her, to show that she didn't have an effect on him, but it was so hard _not_ to have a reaction to her. It was the end of the day, yet she managed to still look so lovely and refreshed.

"Yes, I was wondering as to your presence there in court," Mike admitted, "Did Jack send you to check up on me?"

Connie looked surprised, "No, why would he ever do that?"

Mike eyed her steadily, "I just can't fathom why else you would be there. Were you done with your own work?"

She was taken aback slightly by his implication that she didn't have anything better to do. However, the bigger picture that kept running through her mind was _why did things seemed so awkward between them?"_

"I've had _plenty _to do," Connie assured him, her tone sounding slightly annoyed, "but I had received an intriguing phone call, which was the reason that I sat in on your case."

Mike's breath caught. He hoped she wasn't referring to the phone call he made to her apartment the other night when that guy answered.

"Uh...Intriguing?" he repeating, wanting to buy some time, wondering how to answer if she asked why he called.

"Yes, a_ Ms. Help_ called earlier the first day you went to court, asking for you," Connie asked, "And since you were already on the case, she asked that I sit in on the case, too."

Mike felt relieved; so it wasn't his call. Meanwhile, Connie gave more details about this woman and her strange call.

"So you have no idea why she asked you to sit in on the case?" Mike inquired.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Connie said,"all I know is that she will call later to ask for my opinion."

"Very peculiar story ," Mike agreed as he picked up and gripped his baseball, deep in contemplation, "_Sooo_ ...after listening to the court proceedings earlier today, what was your opinion of the case so far?"

For the first time he was able to look directly at her. A delightful feeling curled through him at the familiarity of discussing another case with her. It always felt so right.

"I had only listened to the end part of that one testimony, from that one witness, Mary Harrison," Connie told him, "I know she was suppose to be your star witness, but something about her just did not feel right with me."

Mike leaned forward, still holding tight to his baseball, "You too?"

His gaze was so intent on her.

"Y-yes," agreed Connie,who found herself looking at his tie, so as not to return his stare, "so I was relieved when you had requested for and was granted a continuance. Obviously you have your doubts, too, after hearing Ms. Harrison's testimony."

Mike acknowledged, "I did."

Connie felt a familiar, intimate feeling traveling throughout her body at the idea of Mike wanting her input on the case.

"What was it that concerned you?" she inquired.

"Mostly the part when she wrote down the license plate number,," Mike stated, getting back to business, as he put down his baseball and handed the evidence bag containing the pad with the written license plate number, "Tell me what you think about this."

"FTD 664," Connie said out loud as she peered at the paper with the license plate number written down.

"When you look at the writing, is there anything unusual about it that you see?" Mike was almost at the edge of his seat, wanting desperately for her to come to the same conclusion he had.

Connie handed the bag back to him, "It's awfully neat writing for someone who wrote while driving a vehicle at the same time."

"Yes! _Exactly!"_ Mike looked beyond pleased, "That's the part I'm not buying. And if one part of a testimony is not truthful, it invalidates the entire testimony."

She nodded in agreement, as she leaned back casually in her seat.

"I wouldn't mind if you told me more about the case," Connie encouraged, "maybe you can bounce ideas off me."

Mike seemed pleased as his whole expression seemed more opened and relaxed.

"That would be great, Connie."

Before he proceeded, he looked at his watch. It was past the end of the workday. He wondered if Connie needed to be home for _him_, that other guy.

"Mike?" Connie interrupted his thoughts, "Did you have to be somewhere?" She had obviously seen him checking his watch.

"No, no," Mike discounted that idea, "But I thought perhaps it was you who needed to be nowhere."

"I'm willing to stay and listen," she volunteered, before adding, "unless, of course, you'd rather discuss it tomorrow." She held her breath.

"So you don't mind _blistering_ your ear to hear about the case?" Mike inquired.

For the first time that day, Connie smiled.

"Not at all. I'll apply bandages to my ears afterward," she playfully remarked, relaxing the tension between them.

Mike was not going to miss this opportunity and eagerly began shuffling some papers in the file, happy to be sharing information, "The first thing I'd like to show you is the information here about the victim of the hit and run."

"Was the victim a male or female?" Connie asked, as Mike handed her a photo .

"Male, but the body has never been identified, " Mike responded, "Fingerprints were sent to the FBI, but there were none on file. After checking missing persons, the policed concluded that the victim was probably a drifter."

Connie accepted the photo and then scrunched her face upon viewing the aftermath picture of the mangled body, "Ugh. I may have to skip my dinner tonight."

"Yeah, it's was a horrific accident," Mike agreed, "At impact, the skull was smashed in like an eggshell. Then it looked like both wheels of the swerving car had driven completely over the head. The features were unrecognizable."

Despite the grisly appearance, Connie continued staring at the details in the picture. By the way she continued frowning, Mike knew something was up.

"What is it?" he asked, "Did you notice something else unusual?"

Connie pointed to a specific area of the picture, "The clothing the victim was wearing in this picture looks too color coordinated and too expensive to be a drifter," she surmised, gratefully handing the gruesome photos back to Mike.

The picture of the victim were so grotesque, Mike hadn't given the clothes any thought. But that was a good point she made.

"I've thought of bringing Lupo and Bernard in on this case," suggested Mike.

"I think that would be a great idea," Connie agreed, "If you want, I could give Lieutenant Van Buren a call regarding your case."

_Connie, forever helpful and reliable_, Mike thought. He had always appreciated her insights and thought they worked well as a team. In fact, she was practically on board with the case now, as far as he were concerned. Mike knew Connie was in a relationship, but he also knew she was in a relationship with her job, too.

"You mean _our_ case," corrected Mike, "if you want in, that is."

_They were going to work this case together._ Connie felt a sense of quiet elation.

"The case certainly is intriguing enough," Connie said before teasingly adding, "but I need to ask my boss's permission."

She now stared openly at him, feeling totally at ease in his presence once again.

Mike smiled back, "As long as you realize that your boss won't be paying for overtime."

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	6. Chapter 6

Meeting Ms. Help

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Chapter 6

Mike felt relieved that Connie was on board with the case. The evening was getting very late and Mike hated the thought that Connie would be leaving soon. He was trying to think of a way to make her stay longer when fate intervened.

_R-r-ing!_

The both looked over at the ringing of the phone.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had _my_ calls forwarded to _your_ office," Connie explained as Mike smiled, recalling how he had forwarded his calls to her earlier.

"Maybe it's fame and fortune calling," Mike teased.

"Then let's answer it quickly, " she returned the jest.

"Yes, let's," Mike stated, "before fortune gets too impatient."

By now, the phone had rung three times.

"Actually, I'm expecting 'Ms. Help' to call, and this could be her now," declared Connie, as she picked up the receiver.

"Go ahead and put it on speaker phone," Mike suggested as Connie acknowledged and pushed the button.

"Hello, this is Connie Rubirosa," she greeted.

The feminine voice of Ms. Help sounded eager, "Hello, Miss Rubirosa, are you free to talk now?"

"Most certainly," Connie looked at Mike, "And I have Mr. Cutter here with me, too."

"Oh! _Per_fect!" Ms. Help's voice came through loud and clear, "Hello, Mr. Cutter! I felt so relieved when you called for a continuance!"

"Always happy to please the gallery," Mike stated dryly, before turning serious, "So what is the purpose of this call?"

"I was calling to ask both of you..what did you two think about what happened in court today?" she asked with interest.

"Very peculiar," Mike stated, "...I've got some unanswered questions."

"No, not about the case," Ms Help stated, "I'm talking about the witness."

"I was referring to her, too," Mike stated.

"And?" Ms. Help inquired.

Mike looked over to Connie. They had discussed earlier what needed to be done.

"_And_ ...we can't tell you anymore than that," Connie concluded.

"_What_?" Ms. Help sounded surprised and annoyed, "But I was the one who introduced you to the case, Miss Rubirosa! Why can't you tell me more? I _deserve_ an opinion from you!"

"I can't give my opinion of testimony unless I'm certain my statement is privileged communication." Connie declared, as Mike nodded his approval.

"Is the news that bad?" Ms. Help sounded anxious.

"That not why she made the previous comment," Mike stated, "Miss Rubirosa is merely enunciating a principle.".

"So how do I find out how you two feel about whether or not you think the defendant is guilty?" Ms. Help asked.

"You'll need to come to the office," Connie explained

"But I took all these precautions so I wouldn't _have_ to speak to you two in person!" She sounded exasperated.

"But we _do_ need to talk to you in person," Mike said, "to verify your intent…"

"My intent?" Ms. Help's voice sounded baffled.

"Yes, in our line of work, not everyone is as honest as they claim to be." Mike explained, "You with your alias name, for example, might just be a plant for the defense."

"You have to believe me...I'm NOT!"

"Let us make that determination when we see you in person," stated Mike, "then we'll be able to judge for ourselves the reason for your motivation."

Connie and Mike exchanged furtive looks. It was like they were in on a secret conspiracy, and they both were enjoying it.

"How fast can you get to the DA's office?" Connie asked, as if Ms. Help had already decided to come.

A relenting sigh could be heard from Ms. Help, "I'm 15 minutes away."

"We'll see you then, Ms. Help," Mike said as he turned off the speaker phone.

"Well, for such a simple case, we seem to be getting deeper and deeper in the frying pan," Mike commented.

"...and right into the hot fat," Connie added.

Mike looked at her, pleased, "I'm glad you're in on this case with me, Connie."

Color rose to Connie's cheeks, although she knew he meant it professionally and not personally. Looking at the time, she knew she was already so late in getting home, but there was no way she was going to skip meeting Ms. Help face to face. Johnny would just have to understand.

"Just try and keep me away from this case, Mike," she said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

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Twenty minutes later, a door knock interrupted their talk and in walked 'Ms. Help',

Though not considered beautiful with her nondescript brown hair and glasses, there was a certain pleasantness to Ms. Help's features. She walked with an air of someone who had to work hard for what she got; nothing came easy for her and life was something to be taken seriously.

And she was definitely the young woman that sat next to Connie in court.

"Hello, Mr. Cutter, Miss Rubirosa," she announced, sounding businesslike and slightly perturbed, "Well, here I am. Now you've seen me. I hope this satisfies your curiosity."

"Not quite," Mike said as he gestured to a seat, "but please have a seat and tell us your name."

"My name is…" she hesitated, as if wondering if she should tell the truth or not, "is Katherine Scott, but please don't make any other inquiries."

"Ms. Scott," Connie's voice was soothing, "We just want to know what is your relationship to the witness Mary Harrison?"

Katherine turned towards Connie, not looking too happy.

"I came here to get information from you, not to give it!" she frustratingly said, "So please don't cross examine me! I came here wanting to find out your opinions about the case, especially in regards to Mary Harrison's testimony. Nothing more. I'm here for an expert evaluation."

"Fair enough," Mike agreed, "to put as succinctly as possible, we think Mary Harrison was lying on the stand."

With that new information, Katherine seemed to relax slightly. "Oh. So you think she was lying, too, " her question sounded more like a statement as she looked at Mike.

"Yes."

"Can you…give me any reasons for your conclusions, Mr. Cutter?"

It was Connie who replied.

"Here, we'll show you instead," Connie stated as she picked up a pencil and a piece of paper, "Write down the number 'six' on this paper," she instructed Katherine, "Write it large enough so that it is legible.

Katherine looked puzzled, but she took the pencil and paper and did as instructed.

"Now," Connie instructed, "get up and walk around the room and write another figure 'six' the same size while you're walking."

"Uh, okay…" She followed the instructions, walking across the room one time while jotting down the number and then returning.

"Now compare the two numbers," Connie suggested.

Katherine glanced at what she had written, "All I see on this paper are two sixes. I don't see the difference," she concluded.

"Bring them over here, ," Mike said, "I'll show you the difference."

Katherine came over and handed the pad to Mike. He pointed out to her how the six she wrote while sitting down was almost perfect, with the loop coming back and joining the down stroke. With the one she made while walking, the end of the loop went completely through the down stroke and protruded for probably a thirty-second of an inch on the other side.

Then Connie showed how Mary's sixes on her FTD 664 paper was written perfectly. The loops joined the down strokes so that the loops were perfectly closed. Hardly possible to write so well in a moving car going over a road at a good speed.

"I see your point," Katherine acknowledged with a satisfied nod.

"Something made you suspicious of this case, which is why you originally came to us," Mike stated, "It's imperative that we know as much about this case as possible before we can continue prosecuting. So again, do you know the witness, Mary Harrison?"

This time Katherine made eye contact to signal to show she was telling the truth, "I've never met her before in my life."

Mike and Connie exchanged questioning glances.

"Then, Ms. Scott," Connie inquired, "Do you want to explain your reason for contacting us?"

She shook her head, "I can't."

It seemed as if she was being guarded once again.

"Why not?" questioned Mike.

"Look, I have nothing to do with this case," she snapped, "otherwise, I would be on a witness list, wouldn't It?"

"Well, you've asked for our opinions and we gave it to you," Connie surmised, "It's only fair that you tell us your involvement in this case."

Katherine thinned her lips as in deep thought. Connie read a look of worry, in the woman's eyes, a concern for...something. Or someone.

At last Katherine made a determination and stood up, "Thank you, Mr. Cutter, Miss Rubirosa," she stuck out her hand and shook each of their hands, "I'm pleased with what you told me. Both of you are…everything I expected."

She dropped an envelope on the desk, "It's not much money, but I appreciate the expert conclusion."

The money envelope laid on the desk. Connie placed her hand on top of the envelope and pushed it back in the direction of where the young woman stood.

"Keep the money," Connie insisted, "I told you, we do not accept money from the public."

Katherine could see they would not take it. She hesitantly picked it back up and placed it inside her purse, "Thank you again."

Mike looked directly at Katherine, "So we will not hear from you again?"

"No, you never will again,," Katherine announced, and then sounding anxious, she added, "Please... you must not tell anyone we have been in contact. If anyone knew I was here, I'd be ruined. Believe me, there are interests involved that are not only powerful and ruthless as well. I don't need any trouble."

Mike and Connie studied her anxious face before she turned and left, closing the door behind her. For a second they both stared at the last place Katherine Scott stood, thinking that she gave them more questions than answers.

"That was the strangest interrogation ever," Mike commented, "I could not decide whether or not she was strangely curious or scared."

"She was desperate," Connie countered, "desperate enough to want to pay us."

That's so true..," Mike murmured before his tone suddenly sounded playful,"And yet you refused her payment. You do realize, Connie, that the money in that envelope could have paid for a very good lunch for us?"

Connie smiled at his quip, "_What,_ and give up our delicious takeout lunches of warmed-over Chinese food and greasy pizza? Pshaw! "

Mike grinned, "Okay, then, tell me this...what is your impression of Katherine Scott?"

It was back to the case, but neither was complaining.

"Ms. Scott does not hide her feelings very well," she said with certainty.

This time it was Mike's turn to lift an eyebrow, "Meaning what?"

"Meaning," Connie stated with confidence, "Ms. Katherine Scott did not go through all this trouble to conceal her identity just to get our opinion of Mary Harrison's testimony, a woman she had never met before."

"That had me puzzled too," Mike agreed, "But then, why_ had_ she gone through all this trouble?"

"It's fairly obvious, I think," she concluded confidently.

Mike sat back, relaxed, "Do tell! Don't keep us unobservant, common folks in the dark, Connie!"

The corners of Connie's mouth upturned, "I am of the opinion that Ms. Katherine Scott... is a young woman _in love._"

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	7. Chapter 7

Heather Brantley

Chapter 7

Connie'a cheeks felt warm at the way Mike was assessing her after she made the comment about Katherine Scott seeming to be a young woman in love.

"In love?" Mike half-teased, "So now we are an authority on the subject of _love_?"

Immediately he saw Connie's mouth tighten as she stared straight ahead. He had not expected such a cool reception. The light situation had turned uncomfortable and he couldn't imagine what he had said that was so wrong, but he wished he could take it back.

What he hadn't realized was that Connie was not upset; she was embarrassed discussing 'love' with her boss. To her, the conversation had veered into personal status, which, she told herself was illogical since the mention of_ love_ had nothing to do with Mike, or any professional colleague. Especially Mike, she reminded herself again.

"I'm no expert, mind you," Connie carefully picked her words, "I'm just saying there's a certain faraway look women get when ..they are thinking of someone special..."

"Someone special," Mike repeated, as he regarded her intently as if he were contemplating the words. She felt more warmth running up to her cheeks as she tried to diffuse the awkward situation.

"I think that we getting slightly away from the case, don't you think?" Connie stated quietly.

Mike also felt relieved at the change of subject, "You're right, of course, " he tried to give a reassuring smile, "We need to concentrate on the case. How about this. I order some Chinese food while we work on the case together…"

His request was left open-ended. She wanted so much to say yes, to get caught up in a late-night case with Mike again. But then she remembered that she had made dinner plans with Johnny and she was already running late.

"I'm sorry, Mike," there was a slight tremor in her voice, "...I have to go..."

His reaction revealed nothing as he squared his shoulders.

"Of course, it's late for you," he forced a smile, "I can get more work done on my own anyway."

Connie nodded and left before she changed her mind.

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The millions of lights that stretched throughout New York City streets at night were blinding. Cars, noise and people spilled out from everywhere. Johnny had been driving around aimlessly with Connie for 20 minutes while they looked for a place to dine.

"So if you don't want Chinese food," Johnny inquired, "what kind of food _do_ you feel like having?"

At this point, Connie could have even skipped dinner.

"It's up to you," she replied absent-mindedly from the passenger side, "I'm not that hungry, anyway."

He grunted at Connie's lack of interest, "Sometimes, chica, I wish you would stop thinking of work."

She turned to him, "What makes you think my mind was on work?"

"You have that look...that faraway look," he responded as he stopped at a signal.

Connie's eyes widened at the mention of_ faraway look_, Sorry... it's been a long day, I guess."

"As always," his tone sounded somewhat bitter, "I sometimes feel as though I am the leftovers of your thoughts."

Connie wanted to protest, to say it wasn't true, but she couldn't.

The light turned green and he made a right onto Centre Street, "Anyway," he suggested, "I think there's a few out of the way cafes just past this street."

As he continued driving, Connie knew they were going to pass the DA's office building. Sure enough, it loomed straight ahead. She willed herself not to look in that direction, but instead she found her nose pressed up against the passenger side window, while she peered up at the 16th floor.

One single lit window could be seen, surrounded by the darkness of the others.

_Mike was up there all alone._

Johnny half turned in her direction and took note of how Connie looked back wistfully at her place of work. He didn't know how much longer he could take being second place to her job.

.

.

Although Mike was in early the next day, he was surprised to see Connie already at her desk. He could see that she was concentrating on the same file he had been viewing last night.

This time it was his turn to be at her doorway, "Hi," he greeted.

When she turned to him, she looked as beautiful as ever, but Mike couldn't help noticing the shadows under her eyes.

"Hi Mike," she returned his greeting before going back to the file. He went and sat in the visitor's chair facing her, something he did often when he is in her office. Mike enjoyed the idea that she was in control behind the desk and he was playing the underling.

The Judge had granted a continuance of one week. That wasn't a lot of time to produce a new theory of the case. All Mike knew was that something wasn't right about the case. Sitting so close to Connie, his assumption about her lacking sleep was correct-she looked tired.

"Everything alright?" he asked, a concerned look on his face.

Connie was surprised he noticed.

"Yes, of course, it's just that I've been thinking about...the Brantley case," Connie lied.

"Good," Mike stated, "because we are about to have a visitor that might shed some additional light on the case."

"Oh? " Connie asked, "And who might that be?"

"Tim Brantley's aunt, Heather Brantley," Mike explained, "The Brantleys were down in Mexico during the car incident, but last night the husband called and he told me that he was sending his wife Heather back to the states in their private plane and she would be in our office this morning."

Connie nodded; she had read the file. Her husband Edward Brantley was the uncle of Tim Brantley, the accused. Both Edward and Heather Brantley had attended a going away party given in honor of them; the same party that Tim had been drunk the night of the tragic accident. And it was Edward's Mustang that Tim Brantley had used that night.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Brantley to make her appearance. Dressed tastefully, she was a beautiful blonde with large brown expressive eyes and a mouth that smiled to seduce. In short, she was a millionaire's trophy wife.

And Connie couldn't notice how the woman's eyes sparkled the minute she laid eyes on Mike. He led her into his office, as Connie trailed in and all three sat down.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have met under better circumstances," Mike instinctively stated.

By the way Heather Brantley smiled encouragingly and slowly crossed her legs, she seemed to interpret the statement as a flirtatious remark.

"Well, Mr. Cutter, it's just delightful that we've met," she said as Connie forced herself not to roll her eyes.

"So what is the purpose of your visit, Mrs. Brantley?" Mike got right down to business.

"My nephew is innocent, Mr. Cutter," her eyes were round, "and in order to help him, I thought I'd give you some family background to help you understand the situation. You see, it all boils down to you understanding one particular family member and everything else will fall in place. "

"And whom would that be?" Mike inquired.

"The patriarch Edison Brantley," she responded.

Then she went on to explain that Edison was her husband's father and Tim's grandfather. a self made multi millionaire. Unfortunately Edison was dying and knew it. His doctors had given him six months to live, and that was a year ago.

Heather stated Edison was successful not only because of his business acumen but because he was callous, strong-minded and completely unpredictable. Edison held tight to his wealth and if Tim Brantley was ever convicted of killing a man with an automobile, he would disinherit Tim immediately.

"Edison even stated that fact on the night of the party," she said, "I had spoken to him on the phone, for he had been too ill to attend."

"And it's a fact that Tim had been driving one of your husband's vehicles on the night of the accident?" Mike asked.

"Oh yes," she agreed, never taking her eyes off of him, "my husband has several cars, but Tim always loved the Mustang the best. I never understood Edward's love of cars. They are just different classes of metals, if you ask me. I, however, have far more_ interesting_ hobbies."

Her last remark was ambiguous as she eyed him alluringly.

Mike cleared his throat. Connie watched this exchange and even though Mike was not returning the flirtatious gesture, she still felt herself seething quietly. And that bothered her.

"So you left for Mexico immediately after the party?" Mike asked.

Heather Brantley shifted in her seat, "Why, Mr. Cutter," she showed pouted lips as she blinked innocently, "I'm not a suspect am I?"

It took all of Connie's self control not to throw something at Heather Brantley.

"Just trying to eliminate anyone as a suspect, Mrs. Brantley" Mike assured her, his expression neutral.

Heather sighed, "Yes. The other prosecutor had already checked out our alibi that night. We have proof we had been in Mexico. My husband is a wannabe adventurer. His idea of fun is hiking to a remote area in Mexico to communicate with the Taqui Indians. Meanwhile I wait for him aboard our cruise yacht. He enjoys his hobby and I enjoy _mine._"

She almost purred the last part.

"Mrs. Brantley," Connie interjected in a professional manner, "Tell us again the purpose of your visit."

Heather turned and gave Connie a haughty look.

"I'm here to plead with you to drop all charges against my nephew," she said coolly to Connie. Then as an afterthought, her face and voice softened when she turned back to Mike, "After all, I would do anything if you could do that for me..._anything._"

Could this woman's intentions be more transparent? Connie irritably thought.

"Thank you for coming in, ," Mike stood, "I will certainly take your suggestion under consideration."

At first Heather Brantley seemed a bit surprised that she was being dismissed as Mike reached out to shake her hand. Then smiling seductively, she clasped his hand and held it a few seconds too long.

"I heard you had asked for a continuance during Tim's trial and that tells me you _desire_ more information before you proceed," her voice was unusually low and sensual.

If Connie had been drinking water, she'd be spitting it out at this moment. Right at Heather Brantley.

Mike wasn't sure how to take all these overt suggestive moves, especially in front of Connie, "Perhaps Miss Rubirosa and I should pay a visit to your father-in-law Edison Brantley."

"Oh _my_, you_ are_ brilliant!" Heather Brantley looked pleased, "And when you visit him, Mr. Cutter, try and convince Edison that Tim wasn't involved with killing that man. Edison is also furious with my husband for not keeping a better eye on Tim."

"I'll see what I can do," was all Mike said,

"Be sure to keep me informed," Heather said, as she gave Mike her card with her number listed, "day and night, you can call me."

Then she turned and with her hips swishing, she walked out.

When the door clicked shut, Mike turned to Connie, "Well?"

"I'm surprised she didn't drag a bed in here," Connie stated sarcastically.

Mike's mouth curved into a smile.

"Despite all that Betty Boop posturing," Mike declared, "I found her to be an interesting woman." Connie wasn't sure if he was trying to get a rise from her, but if he was, it was working.

"It was only interesting how her hips moved. I'm sure you noticed that, too," Connie said, almost kicking herself after she said it.

Mike responded, "You were looking too."

"True," Connie commented, "but the act was strictly for _your_ benefit."

Mike gave her a second look and for a split second he thought she might be jealous, but then no, why would she be, when she had someone waiting for her at home?

And he couldn't help thinking that he wished he were the one waiting at home for Connie.

.

,

_Please review_


	8. Chapter 8

Hidden thoughts

(_A/N: I see more and more readers want this to be a romance, and I'm starting to have second thoughts, that maybe I should turn this into one...)_

Chapter 8

It was late at night and Mike was hungry.

Fairway Grocers was where all the locals shopped. The automated doors made a sucking sound as they slid opened and he walked through them.

He carried a handheld basket, intent on picking up some fruit and maybe some toast for tomorrow's breakfast. As he walked down the fruit aisle, Mike happened to glance up and he did a double take.

Near the freezer section, pushing a shopping cart, was Connie. She was peering through the thick glass freezer doors at the vast assortments of ice cream.

Seeing her do an everyday chore brought a smile to Mike's lips.

He watched as she opened the refrigerated door and took out a pint of ice cream and place it in the front top part of her cart. Then, as if debating, she lifted it back up and then opening the refrigerated door, placed it back. Decidedly she next took one step forward, stopped, had second thoughts, stepped back, stared at that pint of ice cream, opened the door and placed it back in her cart.

As far as Connie was concerned, all she wanted to do was go home, grab a spoon, dig into the entire gallon of rocky road ice cream, while watching an old black and white movie. Ice cream helped when wallowing in misery with thoughts of ...of...work...on her mind.

No, she shouldn't...she put it back in the glass case.

Mike grinned watching as Connie debated back and forth about the ice cream. Open refrigerator door, pick up, close, open, pick up, close.

Her final decision was to put the ice cream back in the freezer section. As she did, she unexpectedly felt a prickly feeling go down her spine. It was a feeling one gets when surrounded by an unusual situation. Her sixth sense told her it was emanating from behind her.

Slowly she turned all the way around.

And there he was. Just looking at her. The blueness of Mike's eyes made her heart stopped. He returned her gaze and neither seemed to be able to should have felt embarrassed about being caught staring, but he wasn't. Maybe he secretly wanted her to see him. He smiled in acknowledgement of her presence. He was pleased when she seemed to relax and returned the smile. It was a friendly look; an inviting look. At least that was the way he would interpret it.

He started walking towards her. Mike didn't know what he was going to say, but he knew he wanted to talk with her.

After the fifth step he stopped in mid-step as an uncertain expression suddenly passed by his face.

A man seemingly came out of nowhere and was suddenly by Connie's side. The back of this figure loomed over Connie's cart, and in a domestic gesture, the man placed a six pack of beer in the cart.

And like the Titanic, Mike's heart sank.

Mike's mind also started clicking; the unknown male looked so familiar to him and then Mike remembered. Connie had once introduced that guy to him when they had sought the help of her ex-boyfriend in trying to identify a Mexican drug cartel. If Mike recalled correctly, the name of Connie's ex was...Jimmy...no, wait...Johnny?

Johnny, Mike determined, his mouth set as he turned away.

.

_Mike._

Connie was being blocked from his approach. He would be upon them any moment.

"I got what I came for, Chica," Johnny was saying, after he placed the six-pack in her cart, along with a bag of snacks. He couldn't help but notice that Connie wasn't paying attention to him, "Hey, what is it, chica? Something wrong?"

"Yes, I mean, no.." Connie was trying to look around Johnny; first one side and then the next. Johnny turned in the direction she was looking.

"What? What is it?" Johnny asked, looking back, "Something strange going on over there?"

Both got a view of a young mother pushing her toddler in the shopping cart, as the automatic doors popped opened to allow them to depart from the store and out into the night.

Mike was nowhere in sight.

"I..," Connie swallowed hard, trying to hide her disappointment. Johnny gave her a puzzled look as she put on a reassuring smile, "Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew, but it wasn't..." she let the words lingered. Johnny, of course, was oblivious to Connie's distress as he looked at the few items in the cart.

"Hey, you didn't put anything in the cart!" Johnny announced, "Didn't you say you wanted some ice cream?"

"I've changed my mind," Connie responded before adding, "It's so late, and I really shouldn't be thinking about...ice cream," she stated regretfully, "Come on, let's go check out."

.

,

The next morning, Mike came into work early. Sitting at his desk, he knew he had a lot to do, but he could only think about what had caused him a sleepless night yesterday. His mind kept wandering to the idea that Connie had someone. He had suspected it, but actually seeing it put a finality to it.

But then what had he expected? he rationalized. Did he think she went home alone every night? Should she be expected to remain single and forever tied down to the job? She was a vibrant, beautiful, intelligent woman who deserved more than what this job could offer her.

She deserved a life.

But did it have to include a relationship?

He was being unreasonable. She deserved to be happy with someone. Maybe he was feeling down because he had no one, he theorized. Just then his Blackberry buzzed. Good. Something to take his mind off of these unproductive meanderings, he picked it up and brought it to his ear.

"Cutter."

"Mike, it's Lupo," Cyrus said, his voice sounding his usual low with a toneless efficiency, "I'm calling about something you might want to know about the Brantley case. "

The Brantley case. That was what he should be focused on.

"Yeah...go ahead."

"The run-over body that was flattened like a beat-up pancake? We've been able to identify it," Lupo announced.

Mike sat up, "Who is he?"

"His name is Larry Carson. At least that's the name he gave when he registered at the Starlite Motel. It's also the name he gave when he rented a car from a rental car agency."

"Good work" Mike encouraged him, "Anything else?"

Lupo went on to explained that the identity had been a fluke. When the body was found, the detective noted that there was nothing in the pockets that could identify the person. At first he and Bernard didn't pay attention to the key chain until someone who had rented cars before noticed the code number on the key. That's when they traced the car with the GPS vehicle locator. It had been parked in front of the motel for a couple of days.

"Great that we have the identification," Mike said, "Anything else about the guy? For example, does he have a criminal record of any kind?".

"No, not even a parking ticket. But at least you have a name."

"Any way you can get any additional information about the suspect? His family? Friends? His residence?"

"That's a negative for now," Lupo was saying," The info on the rental car agreement turned out to be bogus. Meanwhile Bernard and I are swamped with a major case. Turns out a serial killer is on the loose and Van Buren is watching our every move. But if something more pops up about this Carson guy, I'll let you know."

Mike thanked him before hanging up.

When Connie came in, Mike was just getting off the phone. They exchanged quick greetings before she automatically sat across from him at his desk. An awkward few seconds followed, each wondering how to proceed. At last Mike decided to acknowledged that he saw her last night.

"Never knew you grocery shopped so late," he stated, watching for any uncomfortable signs.

Connie's lips felt dry, "You know how it is with this kind of a job, Mike," she stated reasonably, "when else could I do it?"

"True," Mike agreed, his tone never varying. His expression gave away nothing, honed in by years of being a brilliant prosecutor in court. Connie was his colleague, he reminded himself. He gestured towards the phone.

That's was Lupo on the phone," Mike switched the subject and was all business, "He called with information on the victim."

The quick change of topics made Connie blink quickly and she had to work to recover.

"Yes, of course, ...what did Lupo find out?"

"Right now," Mike stated, "all we have is a name with no record. So it's a dead end for now. Pun intended."

Mike felt frustrated. He was exhausted both physically and mentally. He hadn't slept well last night and with the way the case was going, he could do with some fresh air. He stood up and grabbed his jacket as Connie watched him with a questioning expression.

"Mike...?"

"I'm going over to Rikers to talk with the defendant, Tim Brantley," he announced to Connie more brusquely than intended.

"Oh, ...do you want me to come along?" she asked,as she, too, began to stand.

Mike was hoping she wouldn't ask. Unlike what most people thought of lawyers, he hated lying.

"Actually, there's plenty for you to do here, I think," Mike stated, with a tone that made him sound like an actual boss for once, "You might want to see if you can pull up any information on your end regarding Larry Carson. So far, we don't have anything but a name. It would also help for you to stay here in case Lupo has an update on the case. "

Connie, now standing, whipped out her notebook and pen.

"That's the name? Larry Carson?" she efficiently jotted down the name, "...Alright," Connie then added, "I'll get on that right away."

She kept her head down, not looking over at Mike walking away. He was almost to the door when he suddenly stopped. Shutting his eyes in frustration before opening them again, he hated himself for sounding like he did. It wasn't her fault that.. well, it wasn't her fault. He turned back around.

"And Connie?"

"Yes?" this time she looked over at him, her voice sounding hopeful.

He wanted to say something...nice to her, but he couldn't find the words.

"One more thing, Connie...what I'd like you to do is try and get in touch with Edison Brantley's assistant and see if I can have an appointment with the family patriarch for three o'clock," Mike announced in a businesslike tone, "If we have nothing on the victim, let's get as much background information on the suspect's family as we can."

If he were a contortionist, Mike would be kicking himself in the behind, right at this moment.

"Oh," Connie tried not to show disappointment at his use of "I" and not "we" when referring to getting in to see millionaire mogul Edison Brantley, "Sure, Mike, I can do that," she responded with a forced smile, "See you later."

.

.

_Please review_


	9. Chapter 9

Separation Anxiety

Chapter 9

At Rikers, the guard behind the desk stared expressionless at Mike, sliding a clip board across the desk. Already familiar with the routine, Mike signed in and then handed him his wallet, sunglasses, BlackBerry and keys in exchange for a visitor's pass. Putting on the badge, Mike was then brought into one of the enclosed visitor's rooms.

Wearing the ubiquitous orange jumpsuit, Tim Brantley was already seated, wearing an expression of defeat despite his air of wealth. Slumped down in his chair, he peered over at Mike, who had taken a seat across the table from him. A scowl crossed the young man's face upon recognition.

"Hey, you're that damn lawyer that's prosecuting me!" Tim accusingly pointed at him just as the barred doors clanged shut.

"Mr. Brantley, I suggest you treat me with more respect," warned Mike, his hands folded in front of him, "after all, I might be the only thing standing between you and freedom."

Tim appeared puzzled, "What the hell do you mean? _Your_ office is the reason why I'm stuck in here!"

"It's true that the circumstantial evidence points to you," Mike stated calmly, "but I'm beginning to have doubts as to your guilt."

That got his attention. The dour expression on Tim's face changed immediately to one of surprise, "Really?"

"...but unfortunately, not enough to dismiss the case," Mike quickly added, "therefore I need to hear your side of the story."

"My side of the story?" Tim repeated, looking as though he were in a fog.

"Regarding the night you allegedly ran over someone or something," Mike explained, "the true story, which means you need to cut out the lies."

Tim threw his hands up in an act of surrender.

"Hell, I don't remember much about that night," he admitted.

"What exactly _do_ you remember of that night?" Mike asked.

He shrugged, "Actually nothing. I don't even remember driving home that night...honest! it's like I blacked out!"

Mike furrowed his brow, "So driving home that night was a complete _blank_?"

Tim nodded miserably.

"Man, I know it sounds like a lie but I swear I don't remember driving at all_,_" Tim continually shook his head in defeat, "When the police questioned me, I didn't want to get into any _more_ trouble so I told them I remembered driving straight home and going to bed but I didn't remember any of it!"

"Okay," Mike nodded, taking him at his word, "Then what time did you eventually wake up from this world of_ blankness_ Mr. Brantley?"

Tim scrunched his face, as if he were struggling to remember, "I don't know...four? No...closer to five a.m. I could barely read the clock because my head felt so heavy."

"So you didn't feel sick from all that drinking at the party?" Mike asked.

"Sick?" Tim shook his head, "Not really...I just felt so out of," he then looked directly at Mike, "And you know what the strangest part was, when I woke up?"

"I can't imagine what it could be," Mike wanted to know.

"When I got up, my shoes were off and neatly placed next to the bed; Like, I don't remember doing that _at all_! Wouldn't you think on that night, with the condition I was in, that I would have just flopped on the bed with everything that I had on?"

That _was_ rather odd that his shoes were meticulously placed next to the bed, Mike thought.

"So as far as you know, no one else was at the house that morning when you got in from the party?" Mike asked.

Tim shrugged, "Well, no one was _suppose_ to be there; the servants had the night off and Uncle and Auntie had already left for Mexico. But, then again, who knows? I was out cold."

"And you have no remembrance of _anything _that happened, from after the party until you woke up?" Mike questioned.

"Nothing...it's like it's been erased from my brain!" he looked dejectedly at Mike, "Does it sound like I'm going crazy?"

"No, Mr. Brantley " Mike slowly theorized, "From what you've described, it's beginning to sound more as if you've been drugged."

.

.

Mike felt stifled being in that small prison room. He couldn't wait to be out in the sunshine again. As he walked away from Rikers, he determined that he would never commit a crime, although he had already committed the crime of loneliness.

As he made his way to his car, his steps slowed when he spotted an attractive, familiar-looking woman approaching him.

No, _please_ not her.

But it was.

Heather Brantley was walking towards the prison and when she caught a glimpse of Mike, a big smile spread across her face. If Mike didn't know any better it was as if her walk now had an extra sway in her hips as she approached him. Obviously confident in her own attractiveness, she seemed to preen when she was at last standing in front of him. She angled her breast upward as she looked Mike up and down.

"Mr. Cutter, so nice to see you," she posed, as if she expected Mike to be admiring her also. Instead, Mike couldn't help wondering why some strikingly lovely women were so self-absorbed while others chose to be hard working dedicated public servants.

"Just following up on some facts regarding Tim Brantley," Mike explained succinctly.

"Well, in case you're wondering, I'm here to make one of my many generous visits to see my incarcerated nephew," she seemed to almost expect applause, "I suppose Tim told you the same thing he told me...that he didn't remember a thing?"

"Yes, so I'm looking into other avenues," Mike stated evenly.

"Oh? And what would that be?" she asked in a way that somehow sounded flirtatious although it was just a question, "Perhaps you'd like to discuss it with me...over an intimate lunch?"

Wow, Mike thought, she must be an apparition because he could see right through her.

"Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to discuss the case," Mike said trying to sound diplomatic, "so as you can see, a lunch would not serve a purpose, which is really for the best. There's a lot I need to do if I'm to either decide the guilt or innocence of your nephew. I'm sure you'd understand, Mrs. Brantley, being that_ your nephew _is utmost on your mind._"_

Heather's eyes widened when she realized that not only was she coming off self centered, she had just been indirectly rejected. A red blush covered her cheeks which was in sharp contrast to the lightness of her blonde hair and pale skin.

"Of course, Mr. Cutter," she stated coolly, "I just hope that working a case is not the only thing that you do well."

Mike did not even bother to respond as he walked past her.

.

.

While Mike had been gone, Connie had the idea to perhaps interview the hostess of the party that Tim Brantley had attended the night he had allegedly hit the victim with his car. She had driven over to the hostess's mansion and when she got what she came for, she headed back to the office. Connie had just arrived back to her desk and was quickly scribbling some additional notes when Jack entered her office.

"I see Mike has you working this Brantley case, too" Jack stated, "I thought when I handed this case over to him, it was going to be an open and shut case. I hope the fact that the Brantleys having more money than God is not the reason why we can't seem to get a conviction!"

"Not at all, Jack. As you know, sometimes things aren't what they seem," Connie cautioned him, "turns out that Tim Brantley may not have run over the victim, Larry Carson, after all."

"More surprises? Great, I'll break out the champagne," Jack did not look happy, "So what's the latest delay?"

"I just finished talking with Jean Sullivan, the lady who had thrown the party that Tim Brantley had attended at the night of this car accident."

"Don't tell me, " Jack said, "Another guy had stolen Brantley's keys and driven off in the car?"

"No, " Connie responded, "Not quite."

Jack looked confused, "but you said you didn't think Brantley ran over a body. Yet we definitely have a victim. Are you saying that Larry Carson just fatally lacerated off his face on the pavement of his own free will?"

"Nothing as gruesome as that," Connie claimed, "the hostess of the party believed it wasn't another male who ran over Carson."

Jack stared at her in disbelief, "I hope you're going to say it was a woman, because if it was a bear that night,**_ I _**want to prosecute the case!"

"Yes, a woman," Connie stated with a half-smile, "Ms. Sullivan claimed that she saw a very drunk Tim Brantley leave with a woman. And it was the woman who had the keys in her hand."

"What woman?" Jack inquired.

Connie had her suspicions regarding Katherine Scott, but she needed more evidence before she could disclose it to the DA.

She shrugged, "Some young woman no one knew. Dark chestnut hair. Rather a mousy description. Ms. Sullivan had noticed at the party that the woman was giving a sympathetic ear to Brantley all night. So there's a chance that someone _else_ hit pedestrian Larry Carson that evening."

Jack nodded, "While I'd like to say job well done, it pains me to see another case dragged out, draining my manpower and money."

"Since when are you all about the money, Jack?" Connie said.

"Since this has become a re-election year!" he admitted, "I hate all this political stuff, but without it I wouldn't even _be_ at this job!"

"Don't worry," Connie assured him with a smile, "Once the elections are over and you are the DA again, you can go back fighting for justice and the American way!"

"Hmmph!" Jack guffawed, before he looked into Mike's office, "Speaking of justice, where is Mike? Don't tell me he took an early night off... on taxpayers expense, no less!"

Connie explained that Mike had gone to talk with the accused, Tim Brantley, at Rikers.

"So you two decided to work separately now?" Jack inquired, "I think the last time you two worked separately was when a blue moon was out."

"We've decided on the divide- and -conquer method of investigating," Connie ad-libbed.

"That particular phrase originated from Julius Caesar, you know," Jack said, "And look what happened to him."

Connie got his point about Caesar being murdered but still commented, "Are you referring to him becoming one of the most successful generals in history?"

Jack looked askance at her, wondering what was really up between his two prosecutors, but deciding it really wasn't his business, "No, but go with that story if it will help you get a conviction for this case!"

.

_._

___Please review_.

_(A/N: Thank you for all the input! I think I know where I'm going with this story! :D)_

_(*special wave to Lolly)_


	10. Chapter 10

More Clues

Chapter 10

Connie was successful in making an appointment with Edison Brantley, the millionaire mogul and grandfather to Tim Brantley. Surprisingly Mike asked her to accompany him and she gladly accepted. On the way to the mansion, Mike had intimated that Tim Brantley could have been drugged while Connie informed Mike that a female could possibly have been the driver on that fatal night.

Edison Brantley was the wealthy Patriarch of the Brantley clan. Almost a year earlier his personal physician had frankly told Edison that he had three months to live; possibly longer if he checked into a hospital facility.

Instead Edison moved his private office into his lavish bedroom and chose to live there.

And continued to be the same belligerent, cantankerous man everyone knew. Then he applied those pigheaded skills towards his will to live, refusing to stop breathing. He was determined to medically beat the odds. Unfortunately, the disease continued to ravaged his body while leaving his brilliant mind intact.

.

When the maid answered the door of the mansion, she replied that Mr. Brantley was expecting them.

Mike and Connie both climbed the spiral oak stairs, walked past four doors down a long hallway, until they came upon an office door marked "Office". Walking through, they saw two assistants on computers typing away.

And at the very front of the door sat Katherine Scott aka Ms. Help, the same young woman who had requested Mike and Connie to sit in and listen in on the Tim Brantley case in court a few days earlier.

Katherine thinned her lips at Mike and Connie's appearance but then quickly masked any other emotions as she stood up to greet them.

"Good afternoon, you must be Mr. Brantley's three o'clock appointment" she impersonally greeted them, as if she had never set eyes on them.

Mike and Connie introduced themselves for the benefit of the other workers in the room.

"I'll tell Mr. Brantley you are here," Katherine crisply spoke.

She sauntered away into another room and soon returned, "Mr. Brantley will see you now, Mr. Cutter, Miss Rubirosa," she said in a prepared manner.

She ushered them through the door into a large lit room. Edison Brantley was propped up on his bed, his colorless, waxy face making him look like a mannequin. Although he had a gaunt face, sunken eyes and other evidence of a deadly illness, his determined jaw showed the spirit of an indomitable spirit.

"Mr. Cutter," Edison greeted, attempting to put some force behind his words but failing. He then turned to Connie, "Miss Rubirosa...how lovely you look."

Mike and Connie returned the welcome.

"Now tell me what you know of the case and when my grandson will be released," he stated forthrightly, used to taking control of a situation.

"That is not our job, Mr. Brantley" Mike stated respectfully, "we are merely here to get some background information for this case."

Edison did not look happy. Although his only grandson was in jail, Edison was determined not to bail him out. Brantleys would not get special treatment, he decided.

"Have you've already talked to my son, Edward? What about his wife, Heather?" Edison asked brusquely.

"We've spoken with Heather Brantley," Connie replied as Edison guffawed.

"Bah! Don't trust Heather Brantley as far as you can throw this bed!" he spoke with disdain.

Mike smile silently to himself at the reference of Heather- and- a -bed in one sentence again, "I'll take that under advisement, Mr. Brantley."

Edison nodded, used to people agreeing with him, "I'd wished my son had, then he wouldn't have married that money-grubbing witch!"

He then focused his attention on Connie, eyeing her up and down.

"Unlike my son, I'm not fooled by a pretty face. Take you, for example, Miss Rubirosa. Though your beauty is just as obvious as Heather's, it is as if you two are of a different species. I see kindness and intelligence behind those lovely eyes of yours."

Connie blushed, "Thank you Mr. Brantley."

"We Brantleys are fighters, you know," Edison was vacillating between two different topics. His attention was obviously waning as his head fell back against the pillow. The colorless eyelids fluttered slightly before he opened them again and looked at Mike, "I want to tell you something," he declared, "I told that witch Heather that I would disinherit Tim if he was ever convicted for that automobile crime. Well, I lied. Tim is a Brantley and will always be a Brantley. And we Brantleys stick together like glue. Don't forget that and also don't forget not to trust Heather..." his voice faded as it got weaker.

"We won't forget," promised Connie.

His energy seemed spent as he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Good...and now I need to rest..." In this short space of time, Edison Brantley seemed to have aged even more. The visit had come to a close.

"Thank you for your help," Mike said respectfully, knowing it was useless to further question him.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Brantley," Connie added.

Edison appreciated their candidness. His stubborn willpower forced him to sit up a bit. _His son was a fool when it came to a pretty face,_ he decreed, _but that doesn't mean everyone has to be._

He turned towards Mike, "...I want to tell you something."

Mike looked questionably at him "Go on, Mr. Brantley."

He tilted a crooked finger Mike's way, "It's something meant for your ears only."

Connie scowled as Mike leaned forward so his ear was but a few inches from Brantley's thin, colorless lips.

"_She's...a...keeper_," he whispered, obviously referring to Connie.

Mike could not have look more surprised if Edison Brantley had sprouted another ear.

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.

When Mike and Connie came out to the exterior room which was used as the reception area, Katherine Scott had just gotten off the phone. Again her face gave away nothing as she went to stand next to them.

"I hope your visit with Mr. Brantley had been informative," Katherine stated crisply.

"Actually, Miss Scott," Mike said, "We'd like to talk to you," he glanced over at the two typist, "...in private, if you will."

Katherine looked anxiously over at the two employees as she made up a fake scenario, "Yes, Mr. Brantley did ask me to prepare some papers for you to see," she stated as she picked up a random file, "so if you'll just follow me into the conference room, I'll be happy to explain them to both of you."

She led them both into a small room that consisted of a long wooden table with six executive swivel chairs. When they took their seats, she was the first to speak.

"What did you think of Mr. Brantley?" she asked them.

"He's...perceptive," Mike stated opaquely.

"While you were doing your little investigating, you didn't tell anyone about me, did you?" Katherine asked in an accusing way.

"Not by name," Connie answered evasively.

"Just _don't_." Katherine's voice sounded desperate.

"Unfortunately we can't guarantee that," Mike told her, "especially since you were the one driving Brantley's car that night."

If she was surprised that they knew, she didn't show it and for the first time she cracked a smile, "I _knew_ the two of you were good," she looked at them with new admiration.

"So you admit it, then?" Connie inquired, "_You_ were the driver that night?"

"Yes, I drove that night," she concurred, "Tim was so out of it that night and I knew he was in no condition to drive, so I got behind the wheel. When I got to the estate, I put him to bed, took his shoes off and called a taxi."

So that explained the mystery of the shoes being carefully placed next to Tim's bed.

"And you never hit or ran over anything with the Brantley's car?" Connie asked.

Katherine shook her head, "Certainly not! I didn't drink that night and even though the road was dark and bumpy, I would have certainly _known_ if I had hit a _body_ on the road!"

"What time did all this happen?" Mike asked.

"A lot earlier than what that Mary Henderson testified to," she stated.

"Really?" Connie murmured, "I wonder why the witness would lie about the time of the accident."

"I don't know," Katherine said, "That's why I asked for your help."

Mike let out a frustrated sigh, "Why didn't you tell us that earlier, Miss Scott?"

"I was...I was protecting Tim and myself," Katherine defended herself, "I mean he was so drunk and I wasn't suppose to be driving his car. Also, I was hoping you would prove that he wasn't involved in the accident, and you wouldn't need to involve me in all this. Please Mr. Cutter, Miss Rubirosa, "she pleaded with each of them, "don't let anything happen to him."

"Actually, I plan on dismissing charges against him soon," Mike stated.

Surprisingly, Katherine Scott did not look relieved.

"Right now" she began, "it might be in his best interest to keep Tim Brantley in prison."

Katherine's statement caught Mike and Connie by surprise.

"What do you mean, Ms. Scott?" Connie asked.

"I heard Bolt Jackman's in town," Katherine announced, as if that said it all.

"And?" questioned Mike.

Katherine nervously licked her lips, "Just... do not mess with him."

"The name alone makes me want to hide," said Connie, "exactly, who is he?"

Katherine leaned closer towards them.

"You didn't hear it from me, but he's the "troubleshooter' for the Brantley interests," she kept her voice low, "He cleans up messes, if you know what I mean. Just be careful. Jackman is ruthless and he is clever... deadly clever. He could manipulate facts and twists things around so you don't know which way you're headed."

"And where do we find this Bolt Jackman?" Mike inquired.

"Unfortunately you don't find him, he finds _you_," she said, "There are no records on file for him. That's not even his real name. Only the all-powerful Brantleys can locate him."

"Miss Scott," Mike reasoned, "You say you are protecting both you and Tim Brantley but it doesn't make sense that you would allow Tim to stand trial, if you know he is innocent."

"Don't you see?" Katherine pleaded, "Someone set him up! And if Bolt Jackman is around, it's best Tim stays where he is. And as for me, I'm not _any_ young woman, Mr. Cutter; I'm Edison's Brantley's personal assistant! I know the contents of his will!"

"And why is that important?" Mike asked.

"If Edison Brantley thought I had a personal interest in his grandson, well...he may disinherit his grandson for poor judgment since Mr. Brantley would think I'm just after the Brantley fortune, which I'm not! Do you understand now? I'm doing this all for Tim! " Katherine Scott then stood up, "Anyway, I should go. The other employees will get suspicious. Please, don't ever talk with me again!" she warned as she strode out the door.

When they were finally alone, Connie gave Mike a satisfied smile, "I told you Katherine Scott is a young woman in love."

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	11. Chapter 11

In it together

Chapter 11

Later as Mike and Connie were driving back to the office, Mike thought about the words Edison Brantley had said about Connie being 'a keeper'. It somehow brought a slight lift in his heart, even though the two of them as a couple would never be.

From the passenger side, Connie spoke, "By the way, Mike, what were the great Edison Brantley's parting words to you?"

"What?" Mike made a right hand turn, wondering how to respond. But he wasn't fooling Connie.

"I think you've heard what I asked, " Connie stated.

Mike had to think fast.

"He was telling me the difference between women and men," Mike sounded casual, "For example, women would think introspectively: _Am I happy? Am I emotionally fulfilled? _whereas men will think outrospectively: _How's my car? Did my team win?"_

It was obvious Mike was fighting a grin.

"Oh _really_,' Connie's tone was sarcastic, as she hid her smile, "Edison Brantley managed to say all of _that_ in the half-second he took to whisper in your ear?"

Mike's response was immediate, "He talks much faster when he whispers."

Connie lifted an eyebrow.

"You know what's worse than a liar, Mike?" she asked him.

"No," he asked curiously,"What's worse than a liar?"

"A _lousy_ liar."

And despite himself, Mike squeezed out a smile.

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Mike and Connie were still all smiles when they returned to his office.

Until they saw Detective Cyrus Lupo waiting in Mike's office, that is. They both learned long ago that when a detective is wasting his time waiting for the EADA to return to his office, it was never a good sign.

"Hey, " Lupo greeted them.

"I assume you're here about some new development in the Brantley case?" Mike asked, as he hung his jacket. The three of them then took their seats.

"Yeah," Lupo said, "in fact, your case has suddenly started moving very fast."

Mike and Connie exchanged glances, not sure if that was a good thing.

"What do you mean by moving fast, Cyrus?" Connie asked, "What's going on?"

"The police just secured an order for the exhumation of Larry Carson's corpse," Lupo explained.

"So quickly?" Mike looked incredulous, not sure how he felt about this latest development.

"Yeah," Cyrus acknowledged, "Apparently Bernard and I found a witness who heard a shot at the Starlite Motel on that night of the nineteenth. After informing McCoy and the defense team, the coroner's office was ordered to dig up the body. Turns out the original person assigned to do the autopsy did a sloppy examination of the body, due to what he claimed was because he had been overworked and overwhelmed at that time."

"So this time Rodgers has been assigned this case?" Connie asked.

"Right again," Cyrus stated, "and when she opened the smashed skull, she discovered it wasn't a hit-and-run accident after all."

"And what did she find?" Connie asked.

"The man had been killed," Cyrus blurted out, "by a small .22 caliber gun."

"So Larry Carson had actually been shot _and_ run over all in the same night?" Mike looked shocked, "I guess it wasn't his night."

"To say the least," Cyrus commented, "In fact, the bullet hole had been concealed beneath the hair and that's how the first coroner originally missed it the first time. So I think the theory of 'the drifter who happened to get in front of a car being driven by a rich, intoxicated driver' just went out the window."

"We've actually stopped thinking that theory days ago," Connie said.

"Oh really? You already knew it was not a hit and run?" Cyrus was almost disappointed that he did not shock them with his news, "So then, what kind of case had you two been prosecuting, if not a hit-and-run?"

Mike didn't pause, "A first degree murder one."

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It wasn't too long before Lupo got a call from his partner regarding his main case so he up and left to the crime scene, closing the door behind him.

The afternoon sun burst through the window of Mike's office, the last of its rays leaving a warmth in the room. Long and thin shadows appeared out of several objects in the room. Even the noise from the traffic below seemed more relaxed.

Mike and Connie were still there, throwing around ideas about the case. It was like old times again and Mike suddenly realized how much he missed bouncing ideas off of Connie even though it was not too long ago they had been on a case.

"...It's makes viewing the photographs of the victim in a different light," Mike said, pointing to a specific one amid the many he had laid out on his desk, "Take a look at this photo here. The man's head was smashed viciously in. Now I see the reason as to why it happened that way was to hide a murder."

Connie observed another one of the photos, "Mike, look at this one..." she pointed to one particularly gruesome picture that show the angle of the head where the bullet gone through, "this part of the head was basically eviscerated, making me think that afterwards, the killer must have smashed his head with a sledgehammer or something before throwing him on the road in order to hide the bullet hole."

Mike lifted an eyebrow, "Slight overkill there, wouldn't you say?"

Connie half smiled, "Just slightly."

Just then she heard the vibration of the cellphone informing her of an incoming text. She apologized as she took the phone out, read the text and typed something back. In a few seconds she placed the phone back in her skirt pocket.

"I hope everything is fine at the homefront," Mike stated evenly.

Ever since that awkward time at the supermarket, Connie didn't feel as though she needed to hide a relationship from Mike any longer.

"Everything's fine. That was just Johnny.," she stated in a straightforward manner.

Mike looked at her with those clear blue eyes of his, "I see."

His face showed no reaction, but Connie felt the air of awkwardness had suddenly swirled about them in the room.

She cleared her throat, "So, Mike...where were we regarding the case? I've lost my train of thought."

Mike seemed relieved with the change of subject, "I have a theory on how we can approach this case, how about you?"

Connie, too, was glad to be on safe ground again, "I have several, actually."

They talked at length about the case, attacking it from every angle. The sun had begun to set, casting the room into an orange hue. After much discussion and decision making, Mike picked up the office phone and Connie watched as he dialed the number. He then put the phone on conference call.

There was the sound of a click as a female answered her phone, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Brantley," Mike said to Heather, as he sneaked a peek at Connie for her reaction, "This is Mike Cutter of the DA's office."

"Oh!" It was obvious she was delighted and Connie rolled her eyes in annoyance, "Yes, Mr. Cutter! So good to hear from you!"

"I'm actually calling because we had a disturbing development in Tim Brantley's case."

There was a slight pause.

"Oh?" her voice suddenly became more solemn, "And what do you mean by '_we'_?" She obviously was not getting the point of why Mike called.

"Hello, Mrs. Brantley," Connie burst in, "Perhaps you remember me, Connie Rubirosa, Mr. Cutter's associate?" Connie couldn't help ending the question with a satisfied smile.

"Well...yes...of course," Heather did not sound too enthused, "and, um, Mr. Cutter, you were talking about my nephew...what is this disturbing development you have discovered?"

"It seems," Connie was the one who answered "that we are now investigating a murder."

"_A murder?"_ the shock in her voice was clear.

"Yes, " verified Mike, "but we don't want to discuss it over the phone with you. Perhaps we could visit you first thing in the morning?"

"...the _two_ of you?" she asked.

"Yes, and thank you for the invitation," Connie interjected, glancing up at Mike as they exchanged smiles.

They set up an appointment, Heather gave them her address and the call was completed.

"You said 'we' were to visit her tomorrow," Connie stated and almost in a teasing way, added, "You SURE you want me tagging along as the third wheel?"

Mike wanted to say, _No,__Heather Brantley__is the third wheel_, but instead he said, "you are more than welcome to 'tag' along with me tomorrow, Connie, but only if we can split the gas expense."

Connie smiled, "Oh yes, I can do that. We'll be sure to split it 25/75, with me paying the 25."

Mike always liked how their conversations just seem to blend together seamlessly.

Pushing up his sleeve slightly, he then checked his watch, "It's getting late, Connie. Perhaps you should be going. I'm sure you've made some dinner plans already."

In truth, Connie had. She had earlier texted Johnny back and told him she would be home in half an hour, and before she knew it another hour had already passed by. She never meant to be inconsiderate, it was just too easy to get wrapped up in her work. Or at least that was what she had convinced herself. Connie really did need to get home.

But when she looked at Mike, she felt as if she would give anything to stay and be eating oily Chinese food out of cheap white boxes.

She stood, "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, Mike."

Walking down the hallway, she had an image of Mike sitting forlornly at his desk, his office soon to be surrounded by darkened rooms once again. She debated for a second before retracing her steps to the door of her office. Connie then reached in and flipped the light switch on before departing, as a reminder for Mike that he was not alone.

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	12. Chapter 12

Unexpected

Chapter 12

The television screen emitted the only light from Connie's apartment as Johnny sat on the long sofa with his arms around her. After some time watching the late night news, Connie soon felt Johnny's chest rise in slow rhythm to his long, deep breathing.

He had obviously fallen asleep and his head now drooped on the top of her head. It made Connie smile at the indulgence of being alone with someone who truly cared about her. Their long history together spoke volumes. And looking at this scene now, she guessed Johnny will be staying over tonight again. It was getting to be a habit but this time the thought of that did not bother her.

Connie's expression became serious once more when she pondered the state of their relationship. He had been very understanding about her coming in late every night. He never put demands on her and he was there for her. She was lucky to have him.

What was she waiting for?

Reaching her arm over, she nudged him on the shoulder, "Hey...Johnny?"

"Hmmmm?' Johnny rolled his head a couple of times. He slowly opened his eyes and turned in her direction, while blinking a couple of times. It took him a while to take in everything, "Chica?" he still sounded sleepy, "Did I miss the news? You want me to go now or something?"

"Quite the opposite," Connie said, softly as she made her decision, "In fact, I'm thinking of leaving some extra space in the bathroom so you can leave your toothbrush...if you still want to, that is."

Connie had surprised herself when she blurted out the words. But she wasn't going to back down as she looked over at her boyfriend. Johnny sat up. He was wide awake now. And with a satisfied smile, he reached for her.

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It was early morning the next day. Mike and Connie were on their way to Heather Brantley's estate where her husband (who was still in Mexico), she and Tim Brantley resided.

Connie unintentionally yawned.

"Late night?" he asked.

"Sorry," she stated unthinkingly, "We had stayed up later than expected."

Mike's mouth was set in a straight line at her mention of 'we' but otherwise, his expression had not changed. Staring out the window, Connie thought it best to change the subject.

"Isn't this the same route that Tim Brantley had driven on the night of the accident?" she asked.

"It is," MIke agreed, his hands gripping the steering wheel, "This route down 67th Street leads to the State Highway, and after the next intersection, it will lead straight to the Brantley estate."

"So do you think Heather Brantley and nephew Tim are both mixed up in the murder?" Connie wondered.

"Hopefully this visit will answer some of those questions," Mike said, "Let's not dismiss Tim Brantley as a defendant just yet. At least we have three more days before we are due in court."

"So what we have so far regarding the case," surmised Connie, "is that Tim Brantley was driven home by assistant Katherine Scott and put to bed in a drunken or intoxicated state by her. Later, someone else takes the Mustang out again. Then while on the road, witness Mary Harrison notes that same car weaving before hitting a body. And it's only later that we find out that the car had hit the already dead body of Larry Carson."

"That's it in a nutshell," Mike stated, "Remind me to use you to write my summation."

Connie smiled.

Mike slowed his car at the intersection, drove three hundred yards over a surfaced road, and turned to the right between huge stone pillars, marking the entrance to the Brantley estate.

When they got to the entrance, Heather Brantley was standing at the opening the of the front door. Connie couldn't help noticing that Heather was dressed alluringly in a low cut, wrapped dress. She greeted both of them, though her eyes lingered on Mike ten seconds longer than necessary.

"You are here right on time," she said, as they came up the walkway. She still chose to address Mike and basically ignored Connie, "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.

They stood at the doorway, for Heather had not invited them in as of yet.

"Mrs. Brantley, do you know a Larry Carson?" Mike inquired.

"Larry...Carson?" she scowled, as if thinking back, "No... _why? S_hould I?"

"It's something we needed to know," Connie responded, "But actually, we're here to take a look at your nephew's room."

"Yes," concurred Mike, "May we come in now?"

"You're here to search Tim's room?" Heather looked at them with distrust, "Don't you need a search warrant for that?"

Connie shrugged, "We could, Mrs. Brantley, but I would think you would want to invite us in. After all, this may help to exonerate your nephew. If he is innocent, we can use the additional time to find the actual killer."

"So you _do_ believe he is innocent?" she questioned Mike.

"Perhaps," Mike sounded noncommittal, "there is a chance he may have been drugged and this had been a set up."

"I don't know how you searching his room will help," Heather said haughtily, "You two are not even law enforcement experts."

"We just want a quick look around," Mike stated, "We could wait for a search warrant, but time is of the essence. Of course, we can always continue trying the case as is, with Tim in prison and as the defendant; it's your decision."

It didn't take long for Heather to decide as she opened the door wider, "If you must, come in."

They entered a grand foyer before she led them up a flight of stairs, "Is this Larry, uh, Carson character important in this investigation?" she asked, when they reached the top of the stairs.

"Larry Carson was the murdered victim who was also run over by your husband's car."

Heather's eyes widened at that bit of news, "Such a horrid image, Mr. Cutter. "

They walked down a wide corridor and she opened the door to reveal a spacious corner bedroom, "This is Tim's bedroom," she announced.

Mike and Connie entered and began looking haphazardly around the room as Heather Brantley observed from the doorway of the bedroom.

Connie had been looking in the closet when she heard Mike calling her.

"Connie, come take a look at this."

From the doorway, Heather unfolded her arms and also proceeded to go over to the writing desk where Mike stood next to an opened a pencil, he had lifted a gun by its trigger, "I'm no law enforcement official, " Mike stated, sarcastically mentioning Heather's snide remark earlier, "but this looks like a gun. What do you know about this gun, Mrs. Brantley?"

Heather looked surprised, "That's...that's my husband's! It's the .22 caliber he keeps in his locked desk drawer in the den. I have NO idea what it is doing up here in Tim's room!"

"Is your husband still on that expedition in Mexico, Mrs. Brantley?" Connie asked, "Because we would really like to talk with him."

"Yes," Heather responded, "I expect him back in three weeks."

"And what again was your alibi for the night of May 19th, Mrs. Brantley?" Mike asked.

"I told you, I was with my husband!" she stated, "Remember? He had called your office that morning to tell you he was sending me to your office."

"Too bad your husband can't verify that," Connie sounded suspicious.

Heather Brantley narrowed her eyes, "Just what exactly are you implying, Miss Rubirosa? My husband and I were in an isolated place in Mexico. It originally took us a couple of days to even hear the news that Tim had been arrested. There is no phone reception where we were. But you know that, for he spoke with you the morning he had sent me back."

"Still it would be nice if we could talk with your husband to ask him a few questions," Connie stated.

She looked coolly at both of them, "I believe your little investigation has concluded; I've developed a headache. Please go now."

Mike had no choice to place the gun back.

Connie gave an implied warning, "I assume the gun will be right here when detectives arrive with the search warrant."

Heather, looked at both of them with disdain, "Of course. I'll see you two out."

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Mike and Connie were sitting in the car in front of the estate. The darkness of the night gave a certain feeling of intimacy in the car.

"I thought you were supposed to be the people person of the two of us," Mike said lightly to Connie, "but Mrs. Brantley couldn't wait to get rid of us."

"Heather Brantley is such a fraud," Connie commented, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone, "I wouldn't be surprised if she was involved in this murder somehow."

"Well, I think right now, we should just try and untangle this mess instead of haphazardly pointing fingers at people we don't like," reasoned Mike. Taking out his Blackberry, he dialed Lupo's number before putting it on speakerphone.

It was Bernard who answered.

"Hey, Cutter, good you called," Bernard said, not giving a reason why Lupo did not answer his own phone.

"We're calling to give you and Lupo a heads-up. We're on our way to get a search warrant," Mike told him, "we may have found the murder weapon."

"I think that will have to wait." Bernard announced.

Mike and Connie exchanged looks. What could be more important than finding a murder weapon?

"Detective Bernard? This is Connie," Connie spoke up, "Did something happened?"

"A doozey, actually," Bernard could be heard saying, "I have some good news and some bad news."

"It's been quite a day," Mike admitted as he gave Connie a tired smile, "tell us the good news first."

"Oh, sure, that'll be easy to do." Bernard sounded chipper, " Through phone records, we were able to pick up Edison Brantley's clean- up man, Bolt Jackman. Even better, he waived the right for an attorney. I think he's ready to sing like a bird. Lupo is in the interrogation room with him now."

Connie looked pleased, "That certainly is good news, Kevin. The bad news couldn't possibly overshadow what you've just told us."

"Au contraire, Connie," contradicted Bernard, "You two better brace yourselves."

Mike and Connie exchanged uncertain expressions.

"We're ready," prepared Mike.

"I just finished doing some research on your car victim, Larry Carson. He was actually a writer for a travel magazine. In fact, he even wrote an article on our favorite well-to-do couple, Edward and Heather Brantley."

"Well, that's certainly an interesting connection," commented Connie, "but I don't see how this is considered bad news."

"You will when I tell you the rest of this story," Bernard announced, "That body from the car accident that had been identified as Larry Carson? It may not be him after all."

"_What_?" Mike's question was more like an exclamation.

"Yeah," Bernard explained, "Turns out Larry Carson had already died alone in Yucatan, two years ago. So my guess is that this dead person is either someone else or we have here a corpse that died _twice_."

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	13. Chapter 13

The Confession

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Chapter 13

So one thing more important than finding the murder weapon was finding the shooter. They may have not found that person, but at least they have someone in custody who could possibly shed more light on this case.

Lupo was exiting the interrogation room when Mike and Connie had arrived.

"Hey," Lupo greeted them as they stood in front of the one-way mirror. Through the window of the interrogation room, they could see suspect Bolt Jackman sitting and waiting for the next set of interrogators. He was an imposing man, well over 6 feet five with biceps almost as wide.

"I should tell you," informed Lupo," This Bolt Jackman is a real character. He looks exactly like his name, mean and tough. But he turned himself in because he wants his freedom back."

"That's a new one," Mike commented, "So he wants his freedom back by going to prison?"

Lupo snorted, "Gotta love the irony of it all, but yeah. Says he's tired of dealing with bosses that tell him what to do."

"And he thinks the police won't do that?" Connie wondered.

"Jackman has been in and out of prison all his life, " explained Lupo, "he told me his time in the slammer had been the best times of his life. Ironically when he was in there, he was his own person and didn't have to answer to anyone. The prisoners, even the guards would leave him alone, go figure. He said, for him, prison was like a Club Med, or should I say, Club Fed," Lupo slightly grinned, "I don't think you'll have any trouble getting what you want from him."

"Did he have some valuable information to tell you?" Connie wondered.

Lupo rolled his eyes, "Let's just say he has one hell of a story! I think his motto is, _'if you can't convince them, confuse them!_'"

"Then what are we waiting for?" Mike looked at Connie, "Confusing answers are better than none at all. At least we have a fighting chance."

When Mike and Connie entered the interrogation room, Bolt barely gave them a look as they took seats across from him.

The physical layout of the room was designed to maximize the discomfort and powerlessness of the person in custody. The room was soundproof as Bolt sat in a uncomfortable chair with only a table, blank walls and a one-way mirror for him to view.

After introductions, Bolt again waived his rights to counsel. He told Mike and Connie he wanted to work out a deal with the prosecution.

"We need to hear what you have to say, first, Mr. Jackman," Mike declared, "before we can even talk of a deal."

Bolt sat forward, folding both hands in front of him, ready to give the explanation.

"Okay, well you'll like what I have to say," Bolt began, "It all started when after his first divorce, Edward Brantley had married that looker Heather," Bolt made a face of distaste, "Edward eventually figured out she wouldn't stay true to him, so he had me follow her. I caught her several times in the company of that Larry Carson character at motels whenever husband was out of town."

Connie lifted her eyebrow at Mike..

"So Heather Brantley was stepping out with Larry Carson, Mr. Jackman?" Connie needed to verify that she heard right.

"Yeah," Bolt stated, "You got a problem with that?"

He seemed impatient.

"Go on, Mr. Jackman," Mike encouraged.

"Anyway, when Edward decided on this expedition to Mexico," continued Bolt, calmly, "she probably thought it would be the perfect opportunity to be with her lover all month."

"But, wait," Connie interrupted, "Didn't Heather follow her husband to Mexico?"

"Humph! You wish it was that easy!" Bolt stated, "The minute Edward took off for Mexico, Heather hightailed it over to the Starlite Motel. I told Edward I could go check on them, even stopped them, but he told me _he_ would handle it."

"...And by handling it," Mike repeated, "he meant..."

"...he doublebacked, intent on confronting his wife with her lover at the motel," Bolt explained nonchalantly, "Edward thought he would play the part of the outraged husband and get Carson to sign some kind of confession so that Edward's future ex-wife wouldn't get half of his stuff."

"But it didn't turn out that way," Connie encouraged him.

"Naw, but it never does," Bolt sneered, "Anyway, Edward burst into the room with a gun; they started tussling. Unfortunately, the gun went off in the struggle, and Carson fell to the floor with the bullet in his head."

"And this is where you come in," Mike said, "the clean-up man."

"You got that right," Bolt acknowledged, "With Carson dead, Edward called my special number on his cellphone. After listening to the story, I told him to wait there. When I got there, Edward was shaking like a leaf. Heather was there, yapping away and I told her to shut up while I got her husband out of that seedy motel."

"And then you did what you are good at," Connie continued the flow, "which is being the trouble-shooter."

"Yup, that's right, little lady," he said, "Edward Brantley left in his rented car where he boarded the Brantley's private plane to Mexico. Meanwhile, I took the body out, tied it on my car and dragged the face off of it. Then I banged it so the head was smashed like an eggshell, and took it out and dumped it on the highway."

"So you were going to make it a random automobile hit?" Mike asked.

"Maybe, but the problem with _that_ theory," Bolt said, "was the timing. I couldn't be sure if a random car driving on a highway would run over Carson's body before the police discovered the body. So Heather and I discussed what to do."

"And what did you two conclude?" Mike questioned.

"That we had to be sure he was hit and run over violently," Bolt explained, "But first we had to get out of there, especially since she was pretty shaken up. When we got to the estate, we found Tim already in bed, drunk as a skunk. And that's when we figured how to divert guilt from her."

"So she was the one who took out Tim's car the second time?" Mike continued his questioning.

"Oh yeah, it was easy, actually," verified Bolt, "we planted the dead body in the right place and then I had Heather run him over. Then she took the car back to the estate and we left a few clues scattered around, like putting the keys back in Tim's pocket."

Bolt looked proud as he concluded with, " Afterwards, I drove her to the bus station so she could join her husband in Mexico. Rather ironic that they hated each other but had to use each other as an alibi, isn't it?"

That left a bad taste in Connie's mouth, "So Heather Brantley was fine with her nephew being accused of a crime he obviously didn't do?" Connie's tone sounded disgusted.

"Hey, Tim is a direct bloodline of the Brantleys," Bolt suggested, "No way would he get convicted. They have dirty money to spread all over and there are too many holes in the story."

'Holes in the story' reminded Mike of the courtroom testimony, "Wait...the witness, Mary Harrison, who saw the car hit the body...she was a plant, wasn't she?"

"Of course,," Bolt looked directly at Mike, "You know how it is... people will do_ anything_ for money. Mary Harrison was unemployed with two young children. We gave her enough money for her to live and feed her and her kids for half a year!"

"You do realize," Mike said, "that the original prosecutor. Bill Anderson, was ready to convict Tim Brantley before I took over the case, it was only Mary Harrison's testimony that made me doubt Tim's guilt?"

Bolt didn't blink, "That's why we got _yo_u on the case, Cutter...the Brantleys didn't have the confidence that Anderson would picked up on the details."

"Are you implying..." interrupted Connie, "that Bill Anderson did not fall down the flight of stairs on accident?"

Bolt shrugged, "I'm the trouble shooter and I gotta do what I gotta do, right?"

Mike and Connie tried not to show how stunned they felt.

Bolt sat back, "So I gave you what you wanted, right? Let's get the ball rolling; I write out my confession, you put me away and you can move on to your next case. Easy peasy."

Connie looked at Mike and knew he was thinking the exact same thing she was.

"So," he concluded with a confident sneer, "Do we have a deal?"

"Not quite what we would call a deal, Mr. Jackman," Connie announced, "For now, we plan to charge you with obstruction of justice in an ongoing investigation."

Jackman's rough face looked angry, "The hell you say! Check it out! Everything I told you is the truth!"

"No, Mr. Jackman, it isn't," Mike said with certainty, "We know for a fact that your story could not have happened the way you've stated due to one major error in your story."

"_Yeah_? Which part?"

"The part regarding Larry Carson," Connie interjected, "you've stated that he was supposedly having an affair with Heather Brantley. But there was no way he was in that motel room that fateful night."

"Why the hell not?" Bolt looked as if he were ready to punch someone out.

"Because although you had no way of knowing this fact, " Mike declared, "according to the police, they have proof that Larry Carson had died two years earlier."

Mike and Connie exchanged frustrated looks.

Why would this Bolt Jackman tell such a preposterous story?

This was not a simple case at all.

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_Please review._


	14. Chapter 14

Indecisions

Chapter 14

"That was quite a story Bolt Jackman told us," Mike stated.

Mike and Connie were back in his office, discussing the case. Meanwhile a search warrant had been issued and Lupo and Bernard were at this very moment, thoroughly searching the Brantley residence. It would be a few days before they could determine if the gun they recovered was the murder weapon.

Meanwhile, Mike had big decisions to make.

In two days, he had to either decide to drop the charges on Tim Brantley or proceed with the case. Right now he was in limbo and he didn't like it.

"I have a feeling there is a half-truth to Mr. Jackman's story," Connie remarked.

"You may be right," Mike said, "but we have to make sure that we get the half that is truth, not lies."

Connie smiled at the cleverness of his words.

"Then again, it could be the ID was wrong regarding Larry Carson," Connie suggested, "Maybe he hadn't died two years ago. If we can find proof that refutes that, then the story Bolt claimed about _victim Larry Carson and Heather being lovers, with husband killing lover Carson_ all falls back into play and we can charge Edward Brantley with murder."

Mike was shaking his head back and forth, "I don't know, I just don't know," he rubbed the back of his neck, "right now, I'm just too tired to think."

Connie looked at him sympathetically, "Mike, this case has consumed you. Perhaps you need to call it a day."

Mike peered at her questionably. Her concern for his welfare made him think she cared about him personally. But lately, he had been feeling that distance between them again. It seemed as if every time his eyes met her, she'd look away. And her demeanor seemed different. She seemed...more guarded and evasive with him.

"Yes, I'll be leaving shortly," Mike said, though his words sounded empty, "but _you_ probably need to be going now."

Connie wanted to stay, but she had promised to be home at a decent hour. She also suspected that Mike would _not_ be leaving shortly, and that image saddened her, as it did every night for her.

"Promise me you'll be going home soon, too, okay, Mike?"

He looked intently at her and just for a second, it seemed as if they had shared a moment, "Yes, good night, Connie."

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It was late at night and he was once more sitting alone at his desk, cartons of half eaten Chinese food strewn everywhere. He looked out in the darkness of his window at the few lights in the building across the way. Most people at this time were at home with their loved ones. He really didn't mind being in solitude, but he did mind being lonely.

And lately he had been thinking that.

Earlier, Connie had asked if she should stay, but judging from her looks, it was obvious she needed to get home. He wasn't going to stop her. She deserved a life outside of this office.

He heard the sound of men's footsteps and it wasn't long until Jack McCoy appeared at the doorway. Mike quickly grabbed the first folder on his desk and pretended to be in deep concentration.

"Mike, you're still here," Jack said as he walked in.

"And I see you're back" Mike commented. Jack had mentioned he was having dinner at the men's club tonight with a DA from Allegheny county.

"Yes, and what I lousy time I had." Jack said, as he took a seat, "My so-called colleague kept reminding me how he has a higher conviction rate than me."

"Think of it this way, Jack," Mike pointed out, " I don't think that's something to be really proud about."

Jack face lit up, "That's one way of seeing it!" His expression then turned serious, "So what's going on with the Brantley case? I had originally expected to put a feather in my cap with this case, but it seems the feather keeps drifting away from me... you working hard on the case or not?"

Of course, Mike didn't want Jack to know he had other things on his mind besides the case. Mike pointed to the random folder he had picked up, "I was just reading some background information on it when you came up."

"_Really?_" Jack's tone showed he didn't believe Mike, "because that's actually a folder I had placed on your desk regarding my vacation plans for this coming summer."

When Mike looked back again at the opened folder in his possession, this time he noted the European brochure sticking out from under the itinerary sheet "so... O-kay...so, do you want to talk about your vacation plans or do you want an update on my case?" he asked as Jack smirked.

"What I want to know is the lack of forward movement on the case," Jack stated, "What's going on, Mike?"

"The case is moving more sideways than forward," Mike admitted, "Don't forget that we will have to switch from vehicular homicide to first degree murder. It's just we don't know who to charge for this first degree murder."

"I think we learn in Law 101 that the first thing when charging someone with murder is to know who that accused person will be," Jack said, although he wasn't as grumpy as before for he has had his share of confused cases, "so this case isn't a straight line, I've certainly walked a few crooked ones in my time, too. Go ahead and tell me about the zig _and_ the zag."

Mike then proceeded to update Jack about the case, including Bolt Jackson's admission that he and Heather Brantley staged the car accident, although the victim Larry Carson had died two years earlier.

"So you _have_ been working, I see,," Jack acknowledged. He then looked around the room, "I've noticed you seem to be staying late a lot, working this case alone. I thought Connie is helping you with this case, but I don't see her here."

"She _is_ working on the case with me," Mike said, not really wanting to talk about it, "but she went home at 7, which I had no problem with. She deserves a life after all."

Mike's wistful expression did not match his words, causing Jack's eyebrows to shoot up. Jack, however, knew Mike to be a private person, that he kept everything close to the vest, but one only need to look at Mike in the same room with Connie to know how he felt about her. It really was none of Jack's business what went on personally between his two favorite prosecutors.

But he couldn't help himself when he asked, "It's hard, isn't it, Mike?"

Mike looked up at him, "What? Are you referring to the case?"

Jack shook his head, "No, not the case. It's hard to care for someone when you know one step forward will make you fall in love and one step backwards will ruin your friendship."

Jack didn't even wait for a response; he merely turned and walked away. Mike could only stare at Jack until the last of his footsteps could be heard going down the hallway.

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The next day, Mike and Connie were back at the 2-7.

"So you are absolutely sure that the dead body found two years ago was that of my car accident victim, Larry Carson?" Mike inquired.

Bernard was the one who shoved a file over Mike and Connie's way. Connie picked it up and both lawyers peered at its contents.

"Dental records proved it. Besides, take a look at the fingerprints of the corpse that was run over by Brantley's car. It doesn't match the ones on record for Larry Carson." Bernard stated.

"That is rather strange," Connie contemplated, "So what do you have on Larry Carson? How had he died two years ago?"

"According to our investigation, Larry Carson was a writer," Lupo added, "he was on a trip in Yucatan, Mexico on vacation. It's assumed he died of heart failure. Anyway, the widow flew down there to identify the body and bring it home for the funeral. So we have her identification along with the dental records. Case closed."

Mike shook his head back and forth as he peered at the file, "This one really has me stumped. I don't know what to do at this point."

Lupo spoke up, " I say you dismiss the case against Tim Brantley. According to what Bolt Jackson told you two, Edward Brantley had called from the motel and admitted he shot a man dead. So the gruesome body isn't Larry Carson, well, it has to be someone. We have a dead body, and at this point it doesn't matter who it is. We can charge Edward Brantley with killing someone, even if it was accidental."

"Not quite," said Connie, "because it's basically hearsay. If we had Edward Brantley here, we could put him on the stand and question him and then use Bolt Jackson to impeach him, if we need to. But right now it's an impossibility to get in touch with him since Edward Brantley is out in the middle of nowhere, Mexico."

"If you ask me," Mike added, "The timing of Edward Brantley being on a fact finding mission regarding Indians in a remote location in Mexico is suspicious. Another speculation could be that this little expedition has turned into a game of hide-and-seek. With his funds, he could stay indefinitely over there."

"Too many theories, so little time," Bernard commented glumly.

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Mike and Connie had exited the 2-7. Both were frustrated that the case was going nowhere, The only fact that seemed obvious was that defendant Tim Brantley was probably innocent of all charges, including being intoxicated while operating a motor vehicle. Whatever the true story was, it looked as if they would have more hours of work to do.

"Where to now?" Connie asked, as they walked to their parked car, "the office?"

"How about lunch?" he asked unexpectedly.

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_Hang on just a little while longer-we are very close to the end!_

_Please review_


	15. Chapter 15

Telling the truth

Chapter 15

The Odeon restaurant on West Broadway is truly the essence of New York City. An American French Bistro that reflects retro, from its high stylish letters that spell the words cafeteria and Odeon in reddish-orange neon, to the Americana oil paintings on its walls.

Inside, the uncharacteristically wide booths, ribbed glass and burnished woods recall a simpler era of the 1950's. Mike and Connie sat in one of the curved cushioned booths. In fact, it was the exact same booth they had sat when they were on their "spy mission" regarding Judge Reynolds and Carly, his law clerk.

But this was not a luncheon to reminiscence.

After they placed their order, Mike and Connie began to immediately discuss the case. Although both were exhausted from the case, they were aware that they had a deadline as to whether or not they planned to prosecute Tim Brantley.

"Assistant Katherine Scott believed Tim Brantley innocent and I think she is right about that." Connie commented.

"Or perhaps you want to believe that love conquers all?" Mike asked, as he watched her reaction.

Connie tilted her head, "You're sounding a bit cynical about love, Mike."

He shrugged, "That's because in this particular case, I don't remember the feelings being a two way street. I believe it was Miss Scott who held all the desires. And from the little I know about love, all I can say is that sometimes the person you fall for isn't ready to be caught."

Mike couldn't seem to meet her eyes and Connie occupied her time by taking a sip of her drink. The conversation seemed to be getting more personal than either one had expected.

In a way, Mike was relieved to have this conversation out in the open because previously Connie always seemed to keep her guard up when it came to any intimate conversation. Meanwhile Connie was also glad this conversation had come up. Any talk about a relationship, even regarding two entirely different people, almost seemed like the white elephant in the room.

Connie took a deep breath to stead her nerves.

"Is that why you never found anyone, Mike?" she candidly asked, "because you felt that if you had a relationship, it would be one-sided?"

_Yes, I need to be guarded-unless you are the one who wishes to change my mind_, Mike internally thought. But he would never let Connie know these thoughts.

"I'm a lawyer and we've learned early not to trust anyone," Mike half-jested, "including themselves. Besides, being alone isn't so bad...look at Jack. "

Connie knew how much Mike looked up to Jack, how much Jack 's opinion mattered to him.

"I'm not sure Jack is the person people should use as a role model, despite his brilliance," admitted Connie.

"Perhaps, " Mike agreed, though he attempted to keep the subject matter light, "but as you know,great, successful men are often alone."

"And that is something to admire?" Connie inquired.

"It's sometimes the price you have to pay, Connie. Men like Jack have built such high standards for themselves that they are too busy to connect with others. Their drive to succeed is what they desire the most."

Their plates had arrived and was set in front of them.

"I think if you told Jack that was the reason for his success, he might disagree," Connie said, taking a bite of her meal.

"Don't discount aloneness too quickly, Connie," Mike said, "because I know for a fact that Jack _does_ enjoy his solitude. He even plans on taking a vacation on his own."

That was news to her.

"Oh? So now you want to discuss the office gossip?" Connie seemed almost relieved at the change of subject.

"I never discuss office gossip!" Mike pretended to be indignant, "although I may at times discuss office _truth._ "

Connie couldn't help the grin that spread on her face, "Oh, do tell."

"I had stumbled upon Jack's next vacation itinerary," Mike stated, " According to the schedule, he will be touring Europe on his own this summer. And if I know Jack, the minute he signs that guest registration he'll be telling hotel management how to run the place more efficiently. "

Connie started to smile, thinking about Jack vacationing, going from hotel to hotel, complaining about the last hotel while at the same time signing in at the most recent guest registry book. Her smile dissipated, however, when an idea about the case suddenly entered her head. She turned slowly to look at Mike, a knowing expression on her face.

"Connie?" Mike asked, leaning forward, "What is it?"

"Mike, you had mentioned Jack and the hotel guest registry...and I started thinking about the case and something suddenly occurred to me." she declared.

He looked confused, "Really... _what_?"

"We need to find out who signed that guest registry at the Starlite Motel," Connie responded and then added, "because a ghost certainly didn't sign it."

She didn't need to explain further. Mike knew exactly her point.

"You're right, Connie" Mike's eyes seemed to sparkle, "the registry at the Starlite Motel will have read that a person named _Larry Carson_ had signed in, _however,_ we know it couldn't have been him!"

"True," Connie concurred, her voice sounding more excited with each word, "so I think finding out who actually DID sign that registry may be the key to this whole case!"

"At least we have a chance at finding the truth," Mike stated.

"A big chance," Connie concurred, anxious to know the answer.

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And by the time court was in session again, Mike was ready.

The courtroom was once again filled to capacity being that this was a high profile case. Everyone rose when Judge Harper entered the courtroom and the Bailiff announced everyone to take a seat.

"Call your next witness, Mr. Cutter," Judge Harper stated.

Mike stood, "The people call Heather Brantley to the stand."

Heather Brantley made quite an impression on the jury as she walked to the stand. The trim lines of her figure, the expressive blue eyes, the vivacious yet subdued manner she conducted herself in deference to the solemnity of the occasion made the jury like her right from the start.

All eyes were focused on her as she identified herself to the court, adjusted herself on the witness stand and then looked directly at Mike as he approached her.

"Good day, Ms. Brantley," Mike greeted her professionally as she acknowledged him, "Could you please tell the court where you were on the night of May 19th of this year?"

"Of course," she stated pleasantly, "I was with my husband in Mexico. His hobby is studying different Indian tribes of Mexico and this time he was focusing on the Yaqui Indians who basically settled in Northern Mexico. I, myself, preferred the luxury of our private yacht, docked at one of the private American resorts nearby. So you might say we were on a working location."

Defense lawyer Granick stood, "Objection. Although the Brantley's vacation habits may be impressive, I find the testimony to be irrelevant."

"Counsel seems to be impatient, Your Honor," Mike countered, "and my hope is that he isn't trigger quick with _everything_ in his life..." the comment caused Granick to look indignant as Mike added, "...needless to say I will be making a point shortly."

"Overruled," the judge noted as Granick reluctantly sat down again.

"Ms. Brantley," Mike began, "It took you awhile to discover the news regarding the trial of Tim Brantley, is that correct?"

"Yes," she replied, "When I am docked on the yacht, I like to cut off communication with the world. LIkewise, my husband had no access to phones while interacting with the Yaqui Indians."

"I see," said Mike, "Now Mrs. Brantley, originally when your nephew had been charged, your husband had called me from Mexico, is that right?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"And were you with him, Mrs. Brantley," Mike inquired, "when your husband telephoned me from Mexico?"

"Yes," she replied, "I was with him on the yacht."

"And what was the purpose of your husband calling me?"

"It took four days for us to discover that his nephew Tim was on trial for manslaughter," she sounded very sincere and convincing, "Suffice to say, my husband was very upset and concerned. He insisted I go and help in any way I can. So he called you, Mr. Cutter, to inform you of my arrival back to the states. And then I used our private plane to fly home."

"And you saw me in my office the next morning?" Mike asked.

"Yes. I flew on our private jet."

Granick stood again, "Your Honor, again I object. I don't know what counsel is trying to prove, but this type of questioning is leading nowhere. Mr. Cutter seems to be on a fishing expedition, but instead, he caught one whale of a story!"

The judge sighed, "Though I hate to admit it, Mr. Cutter, I, too, do not see the purpose of this tedious line of questioning."

"I apologize for the extraneous questions, Your Honor," Mike stated, "I will be as direct as possible in my next set of questions."

"Sustained," the Judge announced as a very satisfied Granick sat.

From the prosecution table Connie sat back, looking more relaxed than ever. The long hours of work Mike had put in would finally pay off. They now knew why Bolt Jackman had made up that ridiculous story about The Brantleys covering up the murder of Larry Carson, when Larry Carson had already been dead for two years. And now Mike was about to have his moment.

"Ms. Brantley..." Mike said, "you had stated that on the night of May 19th, you were in Mexico with your husband...but isn't it a fact, that you were at the Starlite Motel in New York City on that evening?"

The entire courtroom seemed to make a collective gasp.

Heather Brantley's eyes became very large, but her voice was insistent "I told you I was on a yacht with my husband in Mexico, so _no_, that is NOT possible."

But Mike knew she was lying and he was ready to break the case wide open with the name of the murderer.

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_The trial concludes next chapter!_

_Please review_


	16. Chapter 16

Final Courtroom Testimony

Chapter 16

Heather Brantley pursed her lips as she worked to recover, after insisting that she had been in Mexico, not at the Starlite Motel.

Defense lawyer James Granick stood again, "Your Honor, the vice of this is now apparent. This is an attempt by Mr. Cutter to muddle the issues in this case. It is also a dastardly attack on this witness. She had already answered the court as to where she was on the night of the 19th of May. Now, if Mr. Cutter has _evidence t_o refute her claim..."

Heather Brantley finally managed to pull herself together.

"No, that's fine," she gave an assured smile towards the jury box," I will answer Mr. Cutter's question _again._"

Granick had no choice but to sit down and hope for the best.

"So Ms. Brantley," Mike repeated, "did you go to the Starlite Motel of the evening of May 19th?"

She looked directly at Mike, her expression giving away nothing, "Certainly not, Mr. Cutter," she stated in a calm but frustrated tone, "I was with my husband! Your conversation with him that morning proved that I was with him! I can't believe you would even think of such a ridiculous claim!"

_She is quite the actress._ From the prosecution table, Connie worked at controlling her own emotions. Heather Brantley was obviously playing the victim.

"Well then, Ms. Brantley," Mike said, "If what you stated is true, can you explain how it was possible for you to journey throughout Mexico alongside a corpse?"

"_What?_" Heather's face turned red with anger as the gallery began murmuring.

"Objection!" Granick shot up.

"Thank you for your reaction of anger, not surprise, Mrs. Brantley," Mike said, "No further questions."

Mike went back to the prosecution table and sat as Connie exchanged an unreadable expression with him.

Granick was still on his feet, "Your Honor, I object to the theatrical statement made by the prosecution. It was inflammatory and prejudicial. And I object to the Court permitting any such statement in front of a jury! I charge counsel with misconduct of that remark, and I ask the Court to admonish the jury to disregard it!"

The Judge nodded as he turned to the slack-jawed jurors, "The jurors will not be influenced by any unsubstantiated remarks made by Mr. Cutter." He turned to Mike, "Just watch your step, Mr. Cutter or you may be _stepping_ on a contempt charge." Then he looked towards the witness, "and you may leave the stand now, Ms. Brantley."

Heather Brantley bristled. She held her head up high as she left the witness seat and walked angrily past Mike and Connie.

"Are ready for your next witness, Mr. Cutter?" the Judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," Mike stood again, "The People call Bolt Jackman to the stand."

Bolt stood and walked up to the Bailiff. After being sworn in, he took a seat. Mike then went over and showed People's exhibit 12, a copy of the guest registry from the Starlite Motel, supposedly signed by Larry Jackson.

"Although Larry Carson's name appeared on the agreement, Mr. Jackman, we have a statement here by our handwriting expert that says this signature from the guest registry of the Starlite Motel on the night of May 19th matches _your_ signature," Mike looked directly at Bolt who didn't even blink.

Granick stood, "Is there a question in that hypothetical statement?"

"Thank you for reminding me," Mike stated, as he turned back to the witness, "So Mr. Jackman, I have our handwriting expert in the gallery, (he gestured at graphologist Navjot Patel, who nodded back) ready to testify, however, you can save the court's time by just answering the question: Were you the one who signed this guest registry?"

Jackman was actually enjoying this, he had nothing to lose. After all, going to prison was his intention anyway. However, if the prosecution wanted to find the truth, they would have to work at it. He was not going to give them anything. His previous story was to protect Heather Brantley, but after he considered it, he thought, why?

So if Cutter had figured out the truth, Bolt would give him his due.

Mike had just finished asking him if he had been the one to sign the guest registry at the Starlite Motel.

"Yes," he said, amidst the murmuring sounds of the courtroom.

"So you were the one who had signed the guest registry and rented the car found at the Starlite Motel," Mike wanted to be sure he verified it.

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mr. Jackman," Mike felt relieved at the admission, "and now, I'd like to change directions slightly... I'd like to go back a ways to your past. Have you ever been to Yucatan?"

Jackman knew exactly where Cutter was headed and he smiled at Cutter's brilliance, "Yes."

"Were you there approximately two years ago?" Mike asked.

"Sounds about right."

"Larry Carson was also there about that time, as a reporter, doing a local color story on Yucatan. Did you ever meet him?"

Bolt didn't fidget, "There was a street party one night, and he was there and so was I, but no, we never spoke directly."

"So you were there when Larry Carson's body was found _two years ago_," Mike stated almost like a fact.

"Not at the exact moment of his demise," Bolt answered, "but yes, this was a small town and word spread quickly and I heard that he had collapsed in the center of town of a heart attack."

"And you were there shortly after?" Mike asked.

"Yes."

"Through researching, we have several pictures of him when he was alive," Mike said, "and every time I came across a picture of him, I couldn't help noticing how you are approximately the same built and coloring as him."

Bolt took a second look at the picture, "At certain angles, I suppose."

"In fact," Mike said, "being the mysterious man that you are, is it safe to assume that you when you saw his body, you managed to take his driver's license and you have used his identity many times after that?"

"I am a man without an identity," Jackman stated evenly, "and after his unfortunate passing, he had no use for his identity any longer, so I thought, what would it hurt?"

Low murmurings could be heard, causing the Judge to bang his gavel.

"Can I also assume that you were not alone when you were on that trip to Yucatan two years ago?" Mike asked.

From the gallery, Heather Brantley was vigorously shaking her head, but Jackman's eyes were cold when he spotted her.

"If you're asking if I was with Heather Brantley, the answer is _yes,_" he admitted.

The time the gallery was silent as they all seemed to be leaning at the edge of their seat except for one. Heather Brantley shot up from her seat.

"That is a damn LIE!" she screamed as the Judge pounded his gavel.

"Another interruption like that, Ms. Brantley," warned the Judge, as he shook his gavel at her, "and you will be escorted out of here!" He then turned to Mike, "Proceed, please, Mr. Cutter."

Mike acknowledged.

"Why don't you, Mr. Jackman, tell us what happened at the Starlite Motel on the night of May 19th?" Mike asked.

Jackman cleared his throat, "Well, the night of the party, Edward and Heather had left the party early. Edward had gone back home and Heather rushed to meet me at the motel."

"And you two expected Edward to figure out what was going on, because you were the one who reported to him that his wife was having an affair at the Starlite Motel; is that correct, Mr. Jackman?" Mike asked.

"Yes."

"For the purpose of killing him?"

Bolt didn't blink, "No, I had planned to come clean with him about the affair."

"Please tell the court what had occurred that night, Mr. Jackman," Mike encouraged.

Jackman cleared his throat.

"The lights in the motel room were off at the time because me and Heather had been uh, _resting_, so when Edward burst into the room, I knew he did not recognize me, at least not yet." Jackman continued, "Still, he was like a madman, yelling and cussing. So I grabbed the flashlight I kept by the bedside and aimed the beam right in his eyes, blinding him. Then I threw a chair and launched an attack on him. I had it under control until that idiot pulled out his gun. I hadn't expected that. We struggled for control of it . The gun went off at close range, right at Edward's head."

The silence was deafening in the courtroom.

"And then what did you do?" Mike asked.

"After Heather and I talked some, I banged his body around so that his features would be unrecognizable, making it appear to be a hit-and-run accident," Bolt sounded emotionless, "Meanwhile, Heather planned to go back to the Brantley's going away party and then she would drop a rufee I had given her into Tim's drink."

"Please continue, Mr. Jackman," said Mike.

He shrugged, "Then Heather -Mrs. Brantley, that is- and I flew out to Mexico and a few days later I made the call to you, introducing myself as Edward Brantley."

"So it was _you_ whom I had spoken to that morning, because Edward Brantley was already dead. Is that what you're saying, Mr. Jackman?" Mike knew the answer, but he wanted the jury to know.

Jackman nodded, " We knew you had never met him, so we knew you would not recognize his voice. "

"Quite clever of you," Mike said rhetorically.

He shrugged modestly, "That's my job. To think fast on my feet."

Connie sat at the prosecution table, nodding knowingly. She and Mike had finally figured out why Jackman had told them that ridiculous story about Edward Brantley killing Larry Carson. It had been done to protect Heather Brantley. With Bolt's story, at worst Heather might be found guilty of involuntary or negligent manslaughter. Either one would carry a lighter sentence than first degree murder or voluntary manslaughter, which is what she would be facing now.

But Bolt actually felt good about revealing everything. Patriarch Edison Brantley was right-they had picked the right prosecutor for the case.

"But, Mr. Jackman, " Mike inquired, "why frame Tim Brantley?"

"We knew he could never be convicted, " Jackman explained, "Edison Brantley would have used up every last dime to set his grandson free. Edison Brantley never gives up. He would have utilized all his money to save his grandson."

Mike was satisfied, "Thank you, Mr. Jackman." as Bolt stepped down.

"Your Honor, " Mike then addressed the Judge, "at this time, I would like to dismiss all charges against defendant Tim Brantley."

From the defense table, Tim Brantley buried his head in his hands in pure relief. When he lifted his head, his expression was of total elation. Meanwhile from the gallery, Katherine Scott's eyes were brimming with tears of happiness.

The Judge breathed freely at last, "Motion granted," he said as he turned towards the defendant, "Young man, you are free to go, along with our best wishes."

Everyone watched as Tim turned towards the gallery, Mike and Connie had previously explained to him Katherine's role in help setting him free. He met Katherine's shining eyes with a look of pure appreciation.

Judge Harper turned to his Bailiff, "Bailiff, arrest both Mr. Bolt Jackman and Mrs. Heather Brantley; their trials to be held at a later date."

It was over.

Mike felt exhausted as he headed towards the prosecution table, but his steps felt lighter the closer he got to Connie. From where she sat, Connie gave him an encouraging smile when he reached the table and he gratefully returned the gesture.

"Looks like all the complications just got very simple," Mike commented he sat next to her.

"It usually does for all the great, successful men of the world," Connie stated back to him, alluding to their previous conversation.

Then the sound of the pounding gavel could be heard for the last time as the case of the _People vs. Timothy Brantley_ case finally came to an end.

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Last chapter coming up!

_Please review_


	17. Chapter 17

A Good Night

_(A/N: Okay, I couldn't resist. I had to give Mike and Connie the ending they deserved because I don't know when I will post a new story. What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic! However, for you purist, I've also included my original ending which aligns much closer to the show. I hope one of them works for you. ..Thank you soooo much for reading and for your support. I am forever grateful. Kindly review for the last time!)_

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Chapter 17

The Cedar Street Tavern in New York City, between 11th and 12th Street, is an upscale pub style restaurant. The current crowd consists of after-work revelers from Centre Streets' various buildings, including the DA's office. Many attorneys and police officers come here in search of good drinks, sports TV, and delicious, substantial meals six days a week.

And tonight Mike, Connie and Jack gathered here for a jubilant celebration. A simple hit-and-run case had turned out to be one of the most complex and convoluted murders ever. And now it was over at last. And to celebrate their success, all three were seated at one of the tavern's dining tables, happily raising their flutes, three- fourths filled with champagne, while Jack proposed a toast.

"Here's to two fine prosecutors," he announced, "who've managed to solve an extraordinary murder case through intellect, hard work and determination."

"To us!" cheered Connie, a happy expression on her face.

"Yes, indeed," Mike smiled as they clinked and took a sip.

In no time at all, their dishes had arrived. Mike had ordered a salmon Caesar salad, Connie had ordered a tilapia wrap with fruits plate, and Jack had ordered the rib-eye steak special.

Jack seemed especially satisfied, as he should be, being that this was a win for the prosecution.

"Nothing like ending a successful day with a hearty meal!" He announced as he cut off a piece of his steak and took a bite.

"Well, Jack, there's a hearty meal, and then there's a _heart-y_ meal," Mike pointed out, tasting his salad, "...as in it going straight to the coronary-heart."

Jack caught Connie's grin along with Mike's as he viewed their plates.

"What do you two people, with your healthy consumption habits, know about how to eat!" Jack claimed, "This meal I have in front of me? It's the type of meal that will stick to your ribs!"

"And your waist and stomach, too," added Mike, his grin wider.

Jack guffawed.

"You may not want to talk to your boss this way, Mike," Jack kiddingly threatened, "After all, I might make you pay for any contempt fines that are sent to my office after each case you prosecute," he then turned to Connie, "Couldn't he_ one time_ get along with the judge?"

Connie had finished sipping her drink, "But Jack, you should expect that of Mike by now. It's happened enough."

"He's running this office's overhead account dry," Jack stated.

"Hel-looo..." Mike interjected, as he looked accusingly at both of them, "Why are both of you talking about me like I'm not even here? It's not like I intentionally go around annoying judges," he paused when he saw Jack and Connie exchanging glances, "...not this time, at least."

He then turned to Connie, "and just for the record Connie, you could have at least backed _me_ up on this one."

"I _could_..." Connie responded, allowing the sentence to purposely linger, causing chuckles from the table.

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The meal being completed, it was time to head home. As they started to get up to leave, one of Jack's friends , who was a judge in the circuit court, passed by the table to say hello. Jack decided to stay and enjoy a drink with his friend, leaving Mike to walk Connie to her car.

Exiting the restaurant together, Mike and Connie were both hit by the dark silence and solitude of the night.

It had been drizzling lightly earlier. Fog had begin to settle end, causing the lamplights to look like fuzzy balls of light. The illuminated stars could not be seen as they continued walking the deserted street to where her car was parked.

Although they had enjoyed a delightful dinner with Jack, Connie felt nervous at being alone with Mike, enveloped by the intimacy of the night.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Mike didn't so much as glance at her, as they continued walking. Surrounded by thousands of skyscrapers and parked cars parked bumper to bumper, the sidewalk seemed to stretch for miles. And yet, to them, it seemed as if they had only taken five steps.

Despite the silence they reveled in one another's company. At last they reached Connie's car.

"Here, let me get that for you," Mike held out his hand for her keys.

She appreciatively handed him the keys to unlock her door and then handed the keys back to her.

"Thanks, Mike," she said in appreciation, but yet, she still didn't enter her car. Connie found herself leaning her back against the car as she stared directly at Mike. He gazed back, seemingly mesmerized by her, too.

Then as if remember he was her boss, she folded her arms if making a barrier between them. But as the fog slight dissipated and he stood in here facing her, all she could think of was how attractive he looked in the moonlight. And she longed to stay.

"You know," Connie said, "earlier today I received a text from Katherine Scott. She wanted to thank both of us."

"That's nice," Mike responded, absurdly aware of her presence. He noted how she made little breath puffs every time she spoke. It was somehow endearing.

"Yes AND it turns out," Connie added, "that Tim Brantley asked her out to dinner tonight."

When Mike looked down to smile at this latest piece of news, Connie saw his oft-noticed dimples. Somehow, her knees felt weak when he glanced back at her.

"I'm happy for them, Connie...It's nice when you have someone."

But Connie was not sure if he was referring to the young couple. When he didn't elaborate, she looked off in the distance before casually glancing back at him.

"Well..." she began reluctantly, "I guess...I better be going, Mike."

"Sure, it is getting rather late,"he relented, "Good night, Connie," he bid her as he began to walk away. As Connie began to get in her car, she paused.

"Mike!" she said as she held onto the driver side window.

He turned back, a hopeful expression on his face

"You're not alone, you know," she stated.

Mike, not knowing how to react, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked off in the distance before he looked back at her, "Don't tell me, Connie, " he began, "I'm not alone because I've got justice on my side?"

As she watched him, she felt her cheeks prickling with heat. The image of Johnny suddenly came into her mind, but it faded just as quickly. She had mistaken companionship with Johnny for love. Being with the wrong person kept her one step further from being with the right person and it took her three long years to realize that.

"No, you'll never be alone, Mike" she said it softly, "because you've got me."

When she uttered those words, she watched Mike's mouth drop slightly and his expression showed surprised.

"What..." he was struggling with his emotions now, "What are you saying, Connie?" Mike asked, his eyes intense.

Their gazed were now intricately locked, both unaware of the coldness of the New York night.

"What I'm saying," she said quietly, "is that I don't want you to fall for someone else."

There was no movement or sound from Mike. Her words sent a ripple through him. All he could think about now was that the desolation he had felt throughout theentire case had suddenly dissipated. A victory in court could not compare with the elation he was internally feeling now.

His eyes lit with happiness with the thought that his feelings were reciprocated. His hand then reached up towards hers, fingertips touching the base of her throat causing her lips to part as her heart began to beat faster.

"Connie" a breath clogged in his throat and Mike couldn't seem to say more, although he didn't need to at this moment.

His fingers then began to move up, caressing the sides and front of her throat, drawing sensations to the surface of her skin. She gasped at the warmth of his touch, as shivers ran down her back. And when his hand settled on the softness of her cheek, she felt more intimacy and love with his mere touch than she had with any other man she had ever been with.

"Mike, I don't know why I ever waited so long," Connie's stated softly.

"It was worth the wait for me," Mike stated, his eyes warm with passion.

"I think we have a lot to talk about," Connie stated as she reached up and grasped his hand bringing it down to her side. They stared at the entwined hands, as their hearts beat together in harmony.

"Connie," Mike asked, "Would you perhaps consider going somewhere for drinks... so that we could talk?"

Her heart leaped at the way he looked at her. Smiling at him, her eyes sparkled, "I would absolutely love to, Mike."

So what had once been complicated between them, suddenly became collectively simple.

_The End_

_(...here's the original ending)_

"Oh?" he questioned, not knowing how to react to her statement, "I'm not alone?"

There was a pause.

"No," she responded. There was so much more she wanted to say; there was always something she wanted to say to Mike. But then she thought of Johnny waiting for her at home and she gave a half-nervous smile, "You're not alone, I'll be there fighting justice right alongside you..."

She felt her cheeks getting hot, knowing how dumb her statement must sound to him. But Mike gave her a grateful smile.

"Well, you know what they say about justice," he said, his voice sounding light.

Connie tilted her head with an accepting smile, "No, what?"

"Justice is the only game where the most important player sits on the bench."

Connie laughed. She was glad for the lighthearted moment.

"Anyway," he said, looking down and shuffling his feet before looking back up at her, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Connie."

She nodded. No longer leaning on the door of her vehicle, she watched his departure until his lone figure disappeared into the misty street. Connie remained until she heard the last of his footsteps.

"Tomorrow, then, Mike," she said softly to herself as she got in her car and then drove away.

It's complicated, after all.

_The End_

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_Well, there it is. I've tried something new (more focused on the plot; alternate ending.) You let me know if I was successful. Thanks again for reading!_

_kindly review_


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